


Homoville

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Cho and Chris Pine work at an entertainment magazine. Fresh out of the closet after a bad divorce, John braves New York's gay dating scene with Chris' special brand of encouragement. After a few Craigslist disasters, John meets Zach Quinto, who seems like John's polar opposite but may be his perfect match after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homoville

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2010's RPF Big Bang. This story plays fast and loose with certain details from my past life. I thought it'd be 5K tops, and then it somehow became my Big Bang.
> 
> I owe a debt of gratitude to my beta, the marvelous ewinfic, who helped immensely in refining and smoothing out the rough edges of the story, and who has been gushing about it since she read it, doing all she can to make me blush.
> 
> And thank you SO much to my excellent artist, paracaerouvoar, who created wallpapers and icons that are more colorful, lively, and FUN than I could have ever imagined, and who went above and beyond in all respects.

_From: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 11:46:38 a.m.  
Subject: Here's a good idea!_

 _Stop being sad and gay and come have lunch with me! Homo._

 _xoxo  
CP_

 _From: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
To: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 11:47:13 a.m.  
Subject: Re: Here's a good idea!_

 _One good idea deserves another: Eat a bag of dicks._

 _From: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 11:47:54 a.m.  
Subject: Re: Re: Here's a good idea!_

 _I was just about to suggest the same to you. Maybe you'd crack a friggin' smile for a change. Do you think Cosi sells dicks by the bag? By the bushel? Peck? Ha, a peck of peckers. Get it._

 _Anyway, stop researching. I'm hungry._

"Shouldn't there be a question mark after 'Get it' instead of a period?" John asks wearily, speaking to Chris over the partition of their cubicles. He minimizes his windows and rubs his eyes, flicking his pencil toward the far end of his desk.

Chris peers over the wall a moment later. "Technically, yes. But I use creative license in my e-mail correspondence. Didn't you know?"

"That MFA from Columbia was bound to come in handy some day."

"Barf. We can't all be journalism school graduates. Some of us have to settle for the inanity of a sonnet and an occasional sestina."

John checks his inbox for new messages one last time. "Man, you're making my head hurt." He grabs his jacket and walks away from his desk, turning the corner to join Chris in a stroll toward the elevators. "Also, I really wish you would stop calling me gay in our e-mails. Zoe probably reads all that shit and files it away for blackmailing purposes."

"I hope she does. Hey, man." Chris shares a high five with Anton as he walks in the other direction, pushing the mail cart. "Then she can be jealous of my hot Craigslist men, writing me all day to ask if they can test-drive my cock."

"You use your work e-mail for that?" John asks incredulously. He pushes the down button and shakes his head. "That's just gross."

Chris scoffs, lifting his brow. "Uh, yeah? So they can see where I work and think I'll introduce them to Joshua Jackson in exchange for a quick fuck. What, did you turn gay yesterday?"

"Yes. Practically." John exhales and enters the elevator when it arrives, glancing over at Chris. "Joshua Jackson, really?"

"Oh, whoever the flavor of the week is. Chace Crawford, Ian Somerhalder. That hung guy on _Heroes_."

"Which hung guy on _Heroes_?"

"I didn't catch the name. Anyway, it's getting canceled, so who cares."

*

John didn't turn gay yesterday. He's been gay for at least eighteen months now, ever since his ex-wife caught him masturbating to man-on-man porn and served him with divorce papers. Technically, he's been gay all his life, but one's natural inclinations can be severely hampered by a demanding family, a doting college sweetheart, and the special kind of masochism that comes with denying one's true desires for nearly thirty years.

Chris, on the other hand? Chris has probably been gay since before he was even conceived.

"Fuck, I love me some Jamba Juice," he mutters, slurping from his straw. They're a few blocks away from the _Off Screen_ midtown New York office, sitting at a table in Bryant Park, next to the public library. John can feel his skin bake in the springtime sun, out in full force after a particularly harsh winter. Chris takes another sip, slurping from the bottom of his emptied cup. The suction of his mouth on his straw is obscene. "You're quiet," he observes.

John pushes away his half-eaten salad and shrugs. "I've been thinking a lot lately."

"About dick?"

"No. Well, I mean, sometimes. But not all the time. Not like you."

"I do spend a considerable amount of time pondering dick," Chris agrees. He reaches out and steals a cherry tomato from John's salad. "Lucky for me, I'm the best copy editor _Off Screen_ has ever had, so it doesn't interfere with my work."

John smirks. He has to agree with that. Chris is well-known around the office for his eagle eye when it comes to copy. He can spot when a caption is a half-millimeter off target, and he can spell like nobody's business. Once, a bunch of the staffers went to an adult spelling bee together, and Chris got hammered on whiskey sours and still wiped the floor with everyone, including a sixty-year-old editor from Knopf.

"Remember that time you replaced part of everyone's name in that 'Hollywood's Top 100 Sex Bombs' article?" John asks. He smirks as he sips from his Diet Coke.

Chris grins. "Ha, yeah. Julia Cockerts."

"Cameron Cockaz."

"Hugh Cockman. Or was it Hugh Jackcock?"

"Either way sounds good to me." John takes another sip of soda and looks off toward Sixth Avenue, sighing. "So, I was thinking I should try that Craigslist thing."

Chris nearly drops his Jamba cup.

"Seriously? Oh, my god. This is awesome. We're going to get you _so much_ dick, John. You'll be gagging on it."

John curls his lip in distaste. "Spare me the vivid detail, poet-in-residence."

"You act like you've never had dick before."

"I _haven't_ ," John grunts.

"Well, it's not like I haven't offered!" Chris exclaims. He gestures fiercely in John's direction, nearly knocking over the soda bottle on the table. "How many times do I have to tell you that you're cute? I mean, if I didn't know what a gloomy fucking Gus you are, I'd think you were totally hot."

"Gee, thanks. And I told you already: It would be weird if we had sex. We see each other every damn day. Also, I don't know where that thing," John says, motioning toward Chris' crotch, "has been."

Chris smiles beatifically. "Guys' butts."

"Exactly," John mutters.

"Okay, listen," Chris says. He steeples his fingers together and furrows his brow. "I'm actually really proud and excited that you're even thinking of taking this step, so please don't get all snarky on me and talk yourself out of it. Why don't we head to your place after work and I'll help you craft your ad? I'm a Craigslist expert. I know exactly the kinds of things that will help you attract attention."

John fidgets, peeling the label from his soda bottle. He definitely has a bad feeling about letting Chris help him, but he's also kind of touched that his friend wants to help. Plus, John would be lying if he claimed to have the first clue about what to write in a gay Craigslist ad. He drums his fingers on the table, already hating himself for the fact that he needs Chris' help.

"Okay, fine," he says. "But if you use a bunch of twenty-five cent words and try to add penis photos, I'm abandoning the entire thing and becoming a priest."

"The church has enough gays already." Chris waves a hand to reassure John. "It'll be perfectly chaste, innocent, and dumbed down for the layman. I promise, man."

*

Not surprisingly, Chris' idea of a brilliant m-for-m Craigslist post goes something like this:

 _HOTT AZN GUY, 32, MORNINGSIDE HEIGHTS. 5'9", SLIM, PAYS ATTENTION 2 DETAIL. LOOKING 4 CUTE, BUFF STUD 2 SHOW ME THE ROPES. HIT ME UP._

John squints at the text on the computer monitor, peering over Chris' shoulder. It's John's personal computer, but Chris has hijacked it. John still doesn't know why they couldn't have just done all this on paper.

"'Show me the ropes?'" he asks. "What does that even _mean_? And why is it all in caps?"

"You'll attract more attention that way. Trust me." Chris shrugs and clicks through to the next page. "The trick is to be fairly vague with enough detail sprinkled in to leave them wanting more. You want to include a photo?"

"Fuck, no. Jesus. Chris, this is a bad idea. I can't post this. There's no way."

"Mmm, sure you can. In fact, we're posting it right now."

"What?! I said no!"

"Your head says no but your dick says yes, and I'm siding with your dick on this one." Chris looks up at the new screen after clicking through and huffs. "Fuck, I forgot you have to verify this shit. Hold on."

"Chris, _no_."

The tussle that follows over control of the mouse to either accept or decline the posting leaves John on the floor in a heap with Chris' giant hand pressed against half of his face to hold him at bay. John groans when the posting goes up once and for all.

His apartment is a small one, a studio that John was lucky to get after Kerri kicked him out of their place in Park Slope. John lives on the third floor of his building and Chris lives on the fifth. After he dusts off his bruised pride, the pizza he and Chris ordered arrives, and it's a mere four steps from his desk to his taupe IKEA sofa, where they sit and eat and watch a rerun of _Will and Grace_. Chris always encourages him to watch more "homosexual-friendly programming" but John isn't sure anyone like Jack McFarland could actually exist in the world.

Chris pauses in the middle of his third slice and nudges John's side. "Hey, you should check and see if you got any replies."

"It's only been fifteen minutes," John counters. Chris smirks at him, licking grease from his bottom lip.

"With a post like that? You've got at least two. Trust me."

John frowns and puts his half-eaten crust down, going back to the computer and checking his personal e-mail account.

He has _thirteen_ replies. Most of them are photos of penises.

"Oh, god, no," John groans, closing an attachment as quickly as he opened it. Chris runs up behind him, making a noise of protest.

"Hey, that was a nice one! Uncut. Wow."

"I don't get it," John says. He flicks through the rest of the terrible, filth-laden replies. "That posting barely said anything of relevance or import."

"A lot of guys have an Asian fetish. That and they like showing off their dicks." Chris pauses in speaking with his mouth full to swallow his food, then points at the screen. "Hey, what about that last one you just had up? That was a real photo."

John goes back and opens the message he just scrolled past. Admittedly, it does sound promising. It's from a personal trainer who lives in Hell's Kitchen. In the photo, he's wearing a tight tank top and flexing his biceps with a huge, cheesy grin on his face. He's a brunet—John does like brunet guys—and he has a killer body.

"I dunno," John says. He feels a little queasy from both the pizza and the idea of going out with a guy who looks as though he could break John in half. "He's, like, twice my size. And he probably has a lot of anonymous gym sex."

"Hey, don't knock anonymous gym sex until you've tried it." Chris bends forward, resting his chin on John's shoulder. "He's hot. I'm kinda jealous. You should have a drink with him."

John takes a slow, deep breath and nods. "I could probably do a drink. For starters."

"Attaboy."

Chris reaches out to lean over John and starts typing a reply for him. John would complain, but it's probably better than anything he can come up with.

"There," Chris says when he's done. "I picked a bar you don't like that much so you don't have to worry about bad associations if the date sucks."

John blinks as Chris clicks send and the reply goes out into the ether. He would have never thought of that.

*

The date doesn't suck _too_ much, though Eric the personal trainer can't seem to shut up about Aussie Rules football and rugby for one fucking second. Plus, he drinks like a fish. After forty minutes, he's already had three pints of beer to one and a half of John's. It doesn't seem to affect him but John imagines that's because Eric is built like a brick shithouse. He hopes Eric doesn't expect John to match him drink for drink; his Asian blood doesn't really allow for that sort of gargantuan alcohol consumption.

Also, Eric has an accent.

His accent is ridiculous.

Eric is halfway through his fifth pint when John's phone buzzes in his pocket. He knows it's an escape-route text message from Chris, in case he needs an excuse to bail. John reaches back to dig out the phone but then pauses, feeling a wave of guilt. Hell, Eric isn't _that_ bad. Yeah, he's boring and has zero grasp on anything that doesn't have to do with sports or off-road vehicles, but he seems nice enough. John decides not to answer the text for now and finishes his second beer.

"So," Eric says. He looks up at one of the bar's TV monitors and sneers at the baseball game playing. "You wanna head into the bathroom and fuck?"

John's terribly glad he doesn't have beer in his mouth when he hears that. Eric would end up temporarily blinded by a combination of hops and spittle. As it is, it's all John can do not to fall into a fit of giggles. Eric's accent makes his pronunciation of the word "fuck" sound like _fack_. Even more disconcerting, John realizes a moment later, is how quickly this "drink" seems to have escalated into sex. The kind of sex he's never had.

"Um. I thought we were just having a drink?" he tries. Eric grins lazily and shrugs.

"Well, we can, but that's a bit boring. You're cute. I could probably lift you with one arm and bend you over the top of one of those stall doors."

John's eyes go wide and his hand flies to his back pocket, touching the phone tucked inside. "Ah...fun as that sounds, and really, it does—"

"Well, we don't have to, mate," Eric says. John holds in his sigh of relief that Eric is only a dullard and not a sleazebag. "Your post sounded like you were up for it, though."

"Yeah," John murmurs. "My friend wrote it for me. He's, um...the creative type."

"Ah, well." Eric heaves a sigh and looks off thoughtfully for a few moments before turning back to John. His expression is almost abashed as he tilts his head. "You, um...wouldn't happen to have your friend's number handy, would you?"

John can only blink at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"Well, fack, I thought I was going to have sex tonight, mate! I'm horny as fack!"

"Please." John shuts his eyes tightly and puts up both of his hands. "Stop saying 'fuck.' I'll give you his number. Just...stop saying 'fuck.'"

Eric looks puzzled but he acquiesces, falling silent as John pulls out his phone and looks up Chris' cell number. John jots the information on a paper cocktail napkin and hands it over.

"Light brown hair, blue eyes. Oral fetish."

"Works for me." Eric leaves a hefty tip for the bartender and grins as he hops off his stool. "Cheers, John. Good luck with, um...not having sex."

John exhales and watches Eric leave the bar, his tight ass swishing to and fro as he goes. He reads the abandoned text message from Chris.

 _I just remembered that I've totally slept with that guy before. He's HUNG. You should let him tickle your man parts._

John pulls a face and texts back, _I think your man parts are in luck this time_. Then he shuts his phone off for the night. He expects Chris will be too busy to return his correspondence.

Chris somehow finds the good graces not to mention any of his resulting activities to John the next morning. But he sure is walking funny. It's almost enough to alleviate John's shitty mood, but not quite. When Zoe pauses by their desks in her four-inch heels to ask Chris if he's just had a colonic, however, John has to smother a giddy smile into his palm. He decides he loves his boss just a little bit more than usual today.

*

 _From: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 01:46:13 p.m.  
Subject: Dude._

 _Anton just went into EIC's office. I call shenanigans._

John snaps out of his daze and looks toward the office that belongs to Zoe, their sleek, stylish, and slightly scary editor-in-chief. The door is already closed. Chris is convinced that Zoe is getting a hot piece of man candy on a regular basis in her own office and John's inclined to agree. There's no other conceivable reason that the editor-in-chief of a fancy entertainment magazine would conduct private meetings with the mailroom guy. John, for one, is fine with it if it's true. He doesn't exactly approve of interoffice relationships, let alone actual sex acts occurring within the office space, but everyone involved is a consenting adult so it's not his business. Even Anton is twenty-two, though he looks seventeen. Plus, when Zoe is happy, she stays off the research department's collective back.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous that everyone is having sex besides him. But he did just say no to a perfectly solid opportunity, so it's his own fault. Which is typical.

John yawns as he puts the finishing touches on a fact check for some horrible _Lost_ piece that paints this final season as the best one ever. John wholeheartedly disagrees, seeing as how he can't even bear to watch the show anymore. He resists the urge to draw facial hair all over the people in the article's corresponding images.

Just then, his personal e-mail inbox receives a new message. It's a new reply to his Craigslist post, the first one he's received in a few hours. He opens it and is shocked by the lack of penis photos and capital letters.

 _Hi—  
Saw your ad and you sound nice, though I'm hoping there's more to you than "hott" and "azn." I'm an accountant, work for Goldman Sachs, aka the Devil's Lair...live near your area, on the upper-upper west side. Around 6 feet tall, dark hair, originally from New Zealand. Sort of a serial monogamist. I just broke up with a long-term boyfriend a few weeks ago and now I'm looking around. I swear I'm not some pervert looking for anonymous sex. If you're interested in having dinner...call me? 212.555.5420._

 _Karl  
khurban@mailhound.com_

"Fucking film department," Chris grumbles on the other side of the cubicle partition. "Fuck your dick if you don't know how to spell 'embarrassment,' Pegg. Seriously. Fuck your grimy dick."

"Hey," John calls to him, still reading over the e-mail. "Does a New Zealand accent sound anything like an Australian one?"

"A little, but not really. Don't tell me you've found another candidate from the Southern hemisphere."

"They seem to like Asian guys." John shrugs. "Maybe it's the proximity?"

Chris gives a long-suffering sigh. "Listen to what I'm trying to tell you, John: Everybody likes Asian guys."

"Imagine if you were Asian, then. You'd get even more sex than you do now."

"For real," Chris agrees. "I wouldn't be able to hold down a job."

"He sounds...sincere." John quirks a small smile at the 'Devil's Lair' comment, appreciating the self-deprecation. "Earnest."

"How utterly charming. Is he hot?"

"No photo." John forwards the e-mail to Chris' personal account and waits for him to open and read it.

"Well, at least he's probably rich," is the final verdict. "Sounds boring, but you're no laugh riot yourself. Call him."

John rolls his eyes, about to retort when Zoe's office door opens again. He peers around the left wall of his cubicle to see what's going on. Anton steps out of the room, his unruly curls disheveled, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. John hears Chris make a faint sound of disgust.

A few minutes later, Zoe appears, looking coiffed to perfection as usual. Not a hair out of place. She strides over to their area, presumably to talk to J.J., the head of research.

"Cho," she says, and John looks up obediently. "Good job on cleaning up that _Lost_ column. I think the writer had never even seen the show, if that piece of crap was any indication."

"Thanks, Z," John replies, smiling. He's the only one allowed to call her that, for some reason. Chris always remarks that it's because Zoe has a little thing for John, but why would she bother with him when she has Anton?

"Hey, Boss Lady," Chris says, popping up over the cubicle wall. He grins winningly at Zoe. "Any compliments for me today?"

"Yeah." A wry smile crosses her lips. "Good job on not fucking up so far."

Chris tilts his head. "That means a lot to me, you know."

"I thought it might."

Zoe pats Chris' head and struts off to J.J.'s office: the inner sanctum, where an old sci-fi TV show or movie always plays in the background and the air smells vaguely of fried chicken. She looks back once to give Chris a playful smile and a wink. John is about ninety-nine percent sure that Chris is the one Zoe has a thing for, not him. If so, she's definitely barking up the wrong tree.

"I think she likes me," Chris says once she's gone. "Don't you?"

"She despises you," John says. He looks back at the e-mail from Karl and saves the number in his phone for later. "Total hate."

Chris sighs mournfully. "It's a sad world."

*

John makes the call during his mid-afternoon coffee run, when there are no obnoxious copy editors or geeky research chiefs around to bother him. He bites his lip as the call goes through, waiting by the end of the barista station for his drink. It rings two times, then three. John goes quickly from lip biting to lip gnawing.

Then, all of a sudden, someone picks up.

"Hello?" he hears, and then a rustling of papers. John clears his throat and squelches the desire to hang up immediately.

"Uh...hi. Hey. Is this Karl?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"I'm John. You wrote to me earlier...answered my ad?"

" _Oh!_ " The voice on the other end brightens and John feels himself smile in response. "The hot Asian fellow who needs to be shown the ropes, right?"

"Yeah, please ignore everything you read there. I'm actually a normal and semi-intelligent person when I'm not trying to write an effective Craigslist ad."

Karl laughs. His voice is deep and his accent is much sexier than Eric's horrible twang. "Well, it got my notice. That's for sure. Care to explain the 'pays attention to detail' part, then?"

"Oh, god." John presses the heel of his free hand to his forehead. "I'm a researcher for a major newsstand magazine. So..."

"Wow, clever. Good thing you're a researcher and not a writer," Karl quips. John feels himself flush a little, rather impressed. This guy is quick. John feels the urge to be bold and take a chance on flirting—that is, if he remembers how to do it.

"You wound me," he says. "And here I was all set to accept your dinner invitation." Huh, not bad. Not bad at all.

"Please accept my humblest apologies, then. Where are you, anyway? Calling from your office?"

"Actually, I'm—"

"Grande iced coffee for John!" a loud, rather round barista calls out. Karl laughs abruptly. He sounds like he has a great smile.

"Starbucks, eh? A man after my own heart. Well, listen, I _am_ at my office, sad to say, so can we plan on dinner tomorrow? We can work out a meeting place and restaurant over e-mail."

John nods his thanks to the barista as he grabs his beverage from the counter. He's having some trouble believing how simple this all feels. It has to be some sort of cosmic trickery. He sips his coffee and tries to dispel the bad thoughts.

"Sounds good to me," he says.

Just like that, John's in a fantastic mood. When he gets back to his office building, he spots Chris and Anton standing outside and smoking. They're in the midst of what appears to be a heated conversation.

"John!" Anton says when he spies John. "Tell Chris that he's missing out by not wanting to go down on girls."

Chris lifts a finger, not missing a beat. "First of all: eww. Second of all, you're asking this homo? He couldn't stop beating off to gay porn long enough to stay married for two years."

John feels his smile deflate to a sour press of lips. So much for his good mood.

"Sex with women can be fun. I wouldn't have done it for so long if it weren't," he says.

"See? He's bisexual or whatever." Anton shrugs and takes another drag of his cigarette. He squints at John as if he's sizing him up. "You'd fuck Zoe if you had the chance, right?"

John wrinkles his nose. "Probably not. I don't have your youthful enthusiasm. I'd be too worried she was judging my technique and lose my wood."

"Lose your wood?" Chris repeats. "Who says that?" He rolls his eyes as he sucks on the filter of his cigarette.

"Listen, okay," Anton interrupts, shaking his head. "Never mind. Whatever. The point is John knows that sex with a chick is just as awesome as sex with a dude. Right, John?"

John hesitates, frozen in the headlights. He doesn't know as much, in fact. He's got no fucking clue. His eyes dart toward Chris, who John expects to appear smug and arrogant in light of the question. But Chris looks back and sighs, patting John's back and stubbing out his cigarette with his shoe.

"Stop trying to recruit me, pussy licker," he says to Anton, turning on his heel. "Your team plays like a bunch of queers."

Anton boggles. "Is that supposed to make some kind of sense?" he asks.

John sips his coffee and follows them back inside the building.

*

"So, Johnny boy," Chris says as he shuts down his computer. "You ready?"

"No," John answers. In fact, he feels nervous and queasy about meeting Karl for their date, even more so than he felt before he met Eric. Maybe because he feels like Karl might actually be worthwhile. John has no idea how to handle meeting a worthwhile person. It's not something he typically does. "Not unless nauseated is a synonym for ready."

"It was the last time I checked. Come on."

John takes one last look at Karl's final e-mail on his monitor.

 _John—_

 _I'll be in front of your office around 5:15. Look for the guy in the navy sports jacket and the nervous smile. Thought we might go to Eatery on ninth ave?_

 _KU_

 _P.S. I won't be offended if you have an escort on hand when we meet, given that I'm a creepy internet fucker._

John smiles to himself as he shuts everything down. He asked Chris to be his escort before Karl even mentioned it—just to eyeball the guy and then quickly take his leave. Though if Karl is as handsome as he sounds on the phone, then John won't be held responsible for shoving Chris into moving traffic to get him to go away.

They walk to the elevator together and John takes a shaky breath after the doors close.

"Has this space always been this small?" he squeaks, tugging on his shirt collar.

"Oh, hell, no. You are _not_ having a panic attack over meeting Mister Hot Kiwi Man." Chris reaches out and adjusts John's tie. "You can't look all flushed and sweaty when he first sees you. That's the kind of thing you're supposed to save for later."

"You think you're helping, but you're not," John mutters.

"Hey." Chris takes John firmly by the shoulders and turns him around so they're facing each other. The look on Chris' face is sincere and warm enough to set off alarm bells in his brain, but he decides to hear him out. "You're attractive and funny and smart. And you're my best friend, so you obviously have good taste, too. If it turns out that you like this guy, he's going to be the luckiest dude on the planet. Okay?"

John quirks a slight smile and takes a deep breath. "Thanks, Coach. So does this mean I made the team?"

"Hell no." Chris kisses John's cheek and smacks the spot where his butt meets his thigh. John yelps. "Now go get him, champ."

By the time they walk outside the building, it's 5:22 and there's no navy sports jacket in sight. John feels his heart drop as he whips his head back to look to Chris. "He's not here. He's not even here. Jesus fuck—"

"Cho, chill. He's only seven minutes behind schedule. This is New York. He could have a thousand reasons for running late."

John bites his lip and nods, looking around again. About thirty seconds later, he sees a navy sports jacket running toward him, weaving through the crowded sidewalks of midtown. There's also an extremely good-looking guy in the sports jacket, which makes everything that much better.

"John?" the man—Karl—says, panting for breath as he draws near. And, wow, he's pretty sexy. Nice eyes and a great smile, just as John had assumed. John grins crookedly and nods, extending his hand for a shake.

"Karl. Hey, yeah."

Chris hears them talking and turns, a little uncomfortably close to where Karl has stopped beside them. Karl's jaw seems to drop a bit when he gets a load of Chris and his ridiculous blue eyes and blue button-down that makes his eyes look even more ridiculous. And Chris seems just as entranced, actually fidgeting for a moment before offering his own hand to Karl.

John has never seen Chris fidget in front of another man. Ever.

"Karl, this is Chris," John says. He can't tell if either of them is listening to him right now. "Chris, Karl."

"Chris," Karl says. He's got Chris' hand held in a stupidly long shake. Chris doesn't seem to mind at all. He simply smiles broadly at Karl, his eyes wide, bright and roving.

John's never believed in love at first sight, but if it does exist, he supposes it makes a shitload of sense that it would occur between his best friend and his blind date.

"You know what?" He smiles tightly so he doesn't start cursing and scaring the tourists. "I'm not feeling too well. Why don't you two take the dinner reservation?"

"Huh?" Chris spins his head and lets Karl's hand go. "What? John, no."

"Um," Karl utters. He shakes his head, getting his wits back. "No, I'm sorry. God, I'm being rude. I didn't—"

"Hey, it's cool," John says. He steps back from both of them and keeps smiling, his face stinging with it. "Just make sure you invite me to the wedding."

"John, you asshole!" Chris shouts.

"John, wait!" Karl calls.

But John doesn't wait. He swallows the lump in his throat, ignores the heat rushing through his cheeks, and hightails it the fuck out of there.

*

John wallows on his sofa with a pint of sesame chicken for a good forty-five minutes before falling asleep in the middle of a _Seinfeld_ rerun. When he wakes up, it's four hours later and his phone blinks at him from the coffee table with unread messages. John grunts as he reaches to retrieve it. He has an e-mail from Karl that apologizes again for being "rude" and offers another invitation to meet up. He ignores that and glances at the long list of texts from Chris ordering him to answer his phone.

As if Chris can sense he's awake, the phone buzzes to life in John's hand. He answers in a hoarse voice. "What do you want?"

"I called for two reasons," Chris says. "The first is to yell at you."

"Yell at _me_ ," John clarifies.

"Yes. For pussying out and feeling threatened or whatever and abandoning what could have been an awesome date with the man of your dreams. Seriously, John. Why would you run away like that? Because the guy looked at me? Lots of guys look at me. We're best friends. I wouldn't try to steal one right out from under you. Give me some fucking credit."

John exhales and pinches the bridge of his noise. "What's the second reason?" he asks.

"Um." And then Chris hesitates. "To thank you. I'm, um...I'm in love."

"You're shitting me," John says flatly. "Now's the part when you tell me how huge his dick was or how great he was in bed, right?"

"Actually...we didn't have sex. I sort of want to take this one slow."

John blinks, stunned. "Holy shit, you _are_ in love."

"Kinda. Do you hate me?"

"I could never hate you, Chris," John sighs. He reaches back and adjusts the pillow behind his head. "That's why I hate you."

*

A few weeks go by and John can tell that the Chris-and-Karl thing is getting serious. As always, there are times when Chris wants to gush about how great his new lover is, and John lets him because he's a good friend. But there are just as many times when Chris doesn't want to gush, citing matters of privacy or confidentiality, and for someone who's as fond of the sound of his own voice as Chris, that's just bizarre.

John's happy for him. Kind of. He even agrees to have drinks with them one night per Karl's insistence. They share an awkward moment when Chris excuses himself to use the restroom.

"You know," Karl says, toying with a paper napkin, "for what it's worth—"

"You really don't have to finish that sentence," John says. "In fact, I insist that you don't."

Karl looks down sheepishly. "Okay, well...I'd still like for us to be friends."

"Sure, friends." John nods and pulls at his beer. "The best of, as long as you don't break Chris' heart."

"If he doesn't break mine first, you mean." Karl tilts his head, giving John an appraising smile. "You're a bit of a one-of-a-kind, aren't you, John? Honestly, the last thing I expected you to tell me was not to break Chris' heart. 'Fuck off and die,' maybe."

John shrugs, unable to help a wry smile. "I'm getting to that. Don't rush me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Karl says, laughing.

When Chris returns, he looks between John and Karl as if to make sure everything is fine. John plays along, smiling pleasantly as he drinks his beer. Still, he doesn't bother to stay much longer after that, and unsurprisingly, neither of the two men seems to notice when John leaves.

*

The next day, it's difficult to get out of bed. John calls the office to cash in on a personal day. Then he shuts off his alarm, rolls over, and goes back to sleep. He wakes again around noon to get up and pee, and to feed his fish. He fetches a bowl of cereal and brings it back to bed.

It's half past two when John finally convinces himself to leave his bed and check his e-mail. He has a note from Chris, asking him if he's ill, hung over, depressed, or all of the above. John ignores it in favor of reading gossip blogs and catching up on Gawker. After about a half hour of that, he realizes that it's a lot more fun to read mindless blogs and websites when he's at the office and there's actual work to avoid.

It's a blend of boredom and curiosity that lands him on Craigslist. John takes a moment to permanently delete his ad from a few weeks back so no record of it can continue to exist on Earth. Then he idly scrolls through the most recent m-for-m postings. He sighs as he notes that gratuitous penis still seems to be the trend.

He's about to go back to the blogs when a post title catches his eye: "Stripe Lover Looking for Solid Guy." John cringes at the terrible billiards pun but he clicks the link.

 _...If you can forgive the pun, then I like you already_ , it begins. John smirks and leans closer to the monitor, reading with interest.

 _I've never posted an ad here before, but after seeing all these penis photos, I thought I'd conduct a social experiment to see if a real ad would get any results. I'm 29, dark hair, dark eyes, and I live in Jersey City. My 30th birthday is coming up and my best friend and I once made a pact to get married by 30 if we were both still single, so...help!_

John snorts. He considers the Jersey City thing and thinks of Chris, who would definitely label the guy as TFF: Too Far to Fuck. Chris once demoted a fuck buddy for that very reason when he moved from the East Village to Long Island City. Borough hopping was usually out of the question, let alone state hopping.

 _Other than that, I'm an off-Broadway actor who does IT for spare cash. I love going to the park or to a good concert. I'm also into hiking, jogging, and rock climbing. My friends tell me I'm a hipster but that seems like a pretty relative term. Plus, I'm pretty sure hipsters can afford to live in Brooklyn, so in that sense, I don't qualify. I read the_ Times _cover to cover every Sunday morning. Oh, and my dog and cat are the best dog and cat in the world. Seriously, they'll make yours look like gutter trash._

John shakes his head as he reads. He can't help but wonder if this guy is serious. It's the most rambling Craigslist ad he's ever seen. Plus, his list of favorite outdoor activities reads like a list John might make of all the things he hates most in life. Granted, he's never tried rock climbing, but...yeah, no thanks. Still, John keeps going.

 _I'm not necessarily looking for something super serious, but I'm not opposed to it. I'd love to meet a guy who's smart and funny and good-natured. Honestly, those are my main requirements. They seem simple enough and yet they're so difficult to find. I might regret this later, but if you're interested, call me: 347-555-2323. Fair warning: I might not pick up if the first few calls I get are cranks._

 _Oh, and as for the subject line, I just really love to wear stripes._

Then there's a photo of a really cute brunet guy wearing, yes, a striped shirt, with his arm around a sweet-looking blonde girl. Both of their faces are halfway overtaken by huge, matching grins. They look like they're at some kind of outdoor event—a fair, maybe, or a concert. It's refreshing to see a photo of real people, rather than yet another image of someone trying too hard to appear as a porn star.

John's fingers twitch. He swallows and grabs for his phone before he can change his mind, quickly dialing the number. He groans in defeat when it goes straight to voicemail.

"Hey, you've reached Zach," the friendly voice says. "I'm not available at the moment, but please leave your—"

"Yeah, no," John says. He hangs up quickly and sets the phone down a few feet away from him, as if it'll bite. Then he trudges to the sofa in defeat.

He tries again later after two beers. The phone rings twice before John realizes that two beers don't really qualify as proper liquid courage. It's too late, though; the ringing stops and someone picks up on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Hi," John says. He has no idea what's supposed to come next.

"Um, hi?" the man responds. "Who's calling?"

"Uh...my name's John. I, um. I read your ad?"

"Uh huh..." The guy sounds suspicious, as though he didn't actually write a whole missive about rock climbing and stripes for public consumption. "And are you an intelligent individual who can use his words, or did you just call to breathe down the phone at me? Because if it's the latter, I'd rather know sooner than later."

John wrinkles his nose. "I can't promise I'll use the most interesting words, but I've picked up a few, here and there."

"Oh, my god." Then the guy starts laughing and John smiles, confused but a bit more at ease. "I'm sorry. You just can't imagine how many disgusting phone calls I've gotten in the past few hours. I turned off my phone for a while and I'd _just_ turned it back on when you called. Like, I pressed the power button and there you were. I think I have sixty-three dirty voicemails waiting for me."

"One of them is a hang-up from me." John shrugs shyly, even though the other man can't see. "I kinda chickened out. But I heard your message...Zach, right?"

"Zach, yeah, that's me. And you said your name is John?"

"Yeah." John gets up from the sofa and starts to pace. His stomach clenches with nerves. But since Zach hasn't hung up on him yet, he's probably got nothing to lose from a little honesty. "Look, um...I'll cut to the chase. I'm kind of new at this—this whole dating guys thing. But your ad was just so—so genuine, you know? I mean, you seem like a really nice guy. Like someone I'd like to get to know. Plus, you need saving from a loveless heterosexual marriage and believe me, I know what that's like, so, um... Despite throwing out way too much information in the past thirty seconds, I'm wondering if you'd like to go out. To dinner. With, um, me."

Zach is quiet for a moment. Then he makes a thoughtful sound. "Well, okay. But only if it's dinner with you. Since you clarified."

"Are you seriously making fun of me?" John asks. Zach laughs on the other end. "Don't make me bring up that weird pool pun!"

"You're the one who thought it was genuine!"

They make set a time and a place and John scribbles down the information in his planner, glad that Zach doesn't want him to go out to Jersey City. Scratch that; he's glad Zach wants to make plans with him, period. They trade numbers as well. John presses the cool plastic of his phone to his forehead after he hangs up.

"Don't fuck it up," he mutters to himself. "And _don't_ bring Chris."

*

"So, which one is he?" Chris asks. He cranes his neck to get a better view of the dining room from their spot at the front of the restaurant. John elbows Chris in his side.

"Quit it! He might see you!"

"Well, why'd you ask me to come if you didn't want me to tell you what I think?"

"I didn't _ask_ you to come. You volunteered yourself."

"Well, tomato, tomahto. Point him out already."

John sighs and turns back to the dining room, trying to get a glimpse of Zach without calling attention to himself. He spots Zach at a table in the back, drinking a glass of white wine. He's wearing dark-rinse jeans and a violet shirt with the top few buttons undone, his sunglasses tucked inside the opened collar. He looks...kind of edible.

"There," John says. He points as inconspicuously as he can. Chris follows the path of John's fingertip and lets out a low whistle.

" _Damn_. He's a fucking fox. You sure that's the right guy?"

John turns a scowl on Chris. "Okay, you had your sneak preview. Now don't you have some body part of Karl's to go and suck?"

Chris pouts. "He's working late tonight. Which means that I'll be around, so you'd better _call me_ as soon as you get home and—"

"Okay, _okay_. Please leave?" John asks. Chris tilts his head and gently chucks John's shoulder, pretending to sniffle.

"My baby boy's all grown up," he says. Then he loses the drama face and winks, turning toward the door. "Bye, sexy."

John takes a deep breath before heading into the dining area. He approaches Zach's table cautiously, overcome by this odd feeling that he's about to disturb him—which is stupid, considering that Zach is here for a date with him. But then Zach senses his presence and looks up with warm, chocolate-colored eyes, and John feels immediately comforted.

"Hi. John Cho," he says, introducing himself. Zach smiles broadly and stands up from his seat.

"Zachary Quinto." They shake hands for a few moments too long, until Zach laughs abruptly. "Wow, sorry, I... I'm trying to think of something to say that's not about how handsome you are, but I'm blanking."

John blinks in surprise. He wags a finger at Zach. "Oh, you're slick." They both laugh as they sit down. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late. I was—"

"Scoping me out with your friend by the front of the restaurant?"

John winces. "Um, that wasn't—I didn't—"

"It's cool, really." Zach shows off a perfectly white smile as he pours John a drink from the open bottle of wine. "I figured you might do that if you're as new to this as you said. That's why I took this seat, so you could see my good side."

John shakes his head, laughing again. "I'm new to everything, man. I apologize in advance if it's annoying."

"Not at all." Zach lifts his glass and motions for John to mirror the gesture. "To new experiences, right?"

"Sure," John says. He touches his glass to Zach's and feels a tingling sensation in his fingertips. He suspects it's either his own version of love at first sight or a stroke, and for once, he's willing to believe in the less catastrophic option.

*

It takes approximately twelve minutes for something to go wrong. Which, granted, is a whole two minutes longer than John expected. It's nothing huge. They both open their menus and browse through the options and John's got this low buzz of arousal coursing through him because Zach is _crazy_ hot and the photo on Craigslist didn't do him justice. John doesn't quite know what to do about it, so he pretends to be entranced in his menu until Zach looks up with a smile that could melt butter and asks:

"So, John, what do you do?"

"I work for _Off Screen_ magazine," John answers. He motions with his thumb. "It's not far from here. Close to Bryant Park."

" _Off Screen_?" Zach furrows his perfectly manicured eyebrows. "Not sure I know it."

"You've never heard of _Off Screen_? It's a pretty major newsstand magazine...sits right next to _People_ , _Entertainment Weekly_..."

"I think maybe I've heard of it somewhere," Zach says. He looks back down at his menu and doesn't catch the boggled expression that John sports. "What is it, like, movies?"

"Movies and TV, mostly, yeah."

Zach lifts his head and smiles easily, shrugging. "Oh, fun. I don't watch TV, so I guess that explains my ignorance."

"You don't watch TV?"

"Nah. I don't own a set. I prefer to read and do stuff online. I just think all those sitcoms and reality shows are so recycled and vapid, you know?"

John blinks, nodding slowly as he tries to comprehend. He's never met anyone—not a single person—in his entire life who didn't own a TV and didn't at least watch the nightly news. He's not even sure he knows how to speak to a person who doesn't watch TV. Panic flares in his chest and he clears his throat. He has the urge to text Chris with something like, _MAYDAY, MAYDAY_.

"Yeah, sure. Yeah. I can see that." John takes a quick sip of wine and shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "It's not everyone's thing. I mean, I watch a lot of TV. Personally. But it's sort of my livelihood, so..."

"Oh, no." Zach shakes his head quickly. "I didn't mean to imply that, you know...that people who _watch_ TV are vapid. I mean, that's cool that you work for an entertainment magazine. It's really cool. That must be fun."

"It can be, some days." John smiles as he tries to plot a way to steer the conversation away from how vapid his career may or may not be. "And, um, you're an actor, right?"

Zach smiles and appears relieved for the change of subject. "Yeah! Off-Broadway stuff, for the most part. Though I've done a few commercials here and there."

"Television commercials?" John asks. Zach grins and rolls his eyes.

"They pay really well. What can I say?"

"Isn't that like sleeping with the enemy?"

Zach's jaw drops a little and then he breaks out into laughter. John just smiles, feeling a little smug, both for calling Zach out on his secret TV-related ambitions and for making him laugh that openly. Their server chooses that moment to come over and request their orders. John asks for the grilled chicken sandwich and Zach points to the list of salads.

"I know this comes with meat," he says, "but can I get it with some grilled veggies or something instead?"

"You don't eat meat?" John asks, after the waiter nods and takes their menus. Zach shakes his head quickly.

"No, I'm a vegetarian. I used to be vegan but it was too tough to keep up. Especially in this city, what with all the amazing restaurants."

John nods. He's still stuck on the "doesn't eat meat" thing. Meat is delicious and John has no problem with indulging in it. Circle of life and all that. He thinks of all the times he's mercilessly teased Chris during his various short-lived "no meat" episodes and squirms in his seat.

"I can respect that," John says. "Though I think you're missing out. There's nothing like a good burger and a cold beer on a hot day."

"I don't drink beer," Zach replies. He sips at his wine.

"Oh." John curls his fingers against his chin and goes quiet for a few moments. "Do you think it's a bad sign that we seem to be quickly establishing that we have absolutely nothing in common? I mean, I'm seriously asking. I haven't been on a date in so long that I actually forgot if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Like, I remember that 'Opposites Attract' song? But I can't recall if the hypothesis has been proven."

Zach takes a few moments to let out another peal of laughter. He tries to smother it into the back of his wrist so he can speak again. "God. You're absolutely hilarious, you know that? Like, ridiculously funny." He places his napkin in his lap and giggles, shaking his head. "We just got here. I'm sure we'll find something in common."

His knee grazes against John's under the table and suddenly, John feels better again. But also nervous. It's a bit like having gas.

"I would scoff at your optimism," he muses, "but I'll let it slide this time."

Zach grins. "I appreciate your support."

*

The rest of the date goes well, despite the fact that they still don't have much in common. John likes to make jokes and Zach likes to laugh, so that serves them well throughout the night. They end up at a small coffee and tea café, a switch from John's original plan of taking Zach to a local bar where they brew their own beer. John imagines it wouldn't be a fun place for someone who doesn't drink beer, considering it's all they serve.

"So who was the girl in the photo?" John asks.

"That's Kristen. She's my best friend. The one I have to marry if I don't find true love or some approximation thereof." Zach takes a sip of his cappuccino. "Not that I would mind, because I adore her, but she doesn't exactly have the parts that interest me most."

John chuckles a little and ducks his head, drinking his plain black coffee. He shouldn't be embarrassed by Zach's statement and he's already cursing himself for looking down instead of coming up with a witty reply. John thinks he can possibly change the subject and carry on without a hitch, but when he looks up again, Zach has a thoughtful look on his face, one of his articulate eyebrows arched as if it holds mysterious secrets.

"So, John," Zach says. "How do you feel about answering a quick series of brutally honest questions?"

John squints. "Do they have to be brutal? I'm not really into brutality. I'm more of a 'Why can't we all just get along?' type of guy."

"We all need a bit of brutality now and then." Zach casually crosses his legs and John wonders just where the man got his gift for innuendo. It rivals Chris' penchant for dirty talk, though Zach is a lot more subtle about it. "It'll be beneficial. For me, that is. For you, we'll have to see."

"Fine, if you must," John sighs.

Zach nods and pauses momentarily. "Okay, so. You were married. Correct?"

"Yeah. For just a little under two years."

"And that ended..." Zach looks up, as though he's searching for a word. "Poorly?"

"Spectacularly poorly," John agrees.

"Okay, and now you're trying something new with your life, very admirable." He cups his mug with both hands. "Have you ever had sex with a man?"

" _Zach_." John grunts and looks away, huffing indignantly. "What is this, man, twenty questions?"

"A quick series! I said series," Zach says, pointing a finger.

John grimaces. "No, I haven't. I haven't...done that," he says. He pauses and looks down, allowing enough time to pass for Zach to make a quick exit. But that doesn't happen. Zach just grins crookedly, as if John is an adorable bunny lost outside the forest.

"How about kissed a man?"

"No. Not unless you count Chris getting drunk at our office holiday party and attacking me under an unfortunate excuse for mistletoe."

"Who's Chris? Is he my competition or what?"

John laughs loudly. " _Chris_? No, no...he's my best friend. We live in the same apartment building and we work together at the magazine. He's an all-around ridiculous human being _and_ he wound up sleeping with the last two guys I met through Craigslist, so if anything, he's _my_ competition for _you_." John pauses to look at Zach in surprise. "Wait, did you just seriously ask that? Does that mean you actually—"

Zach leans across the table and tugs John forward by his shirt into a kiss. It's brief but electric, and John doesn't dare to protest because he's wanted to do this all damn night. Kissing Kerri never felt wrong or unnatural, but it never felt quite like this. The skin under Zach's bottom lip feels slightly rough with stubble and the press of his lips is just a touch forceful and it makes John's scalp tingle with how perfect it is.

"Actually...want to see you again? Yes, please." Zach pulls back and adjusts John's collar. His smile is just this side of sinful. "Especially now that we've found something we have in common."

John blinks, slightly dumbfounded. "How do you always have a sexy line at the ready? Is that an actor thing? 'Cause I'm gonna need lessons."

"I'm free this weekend. I can pencil you in."

"All right, good," John says. He laughs and pushes the rest of his coffee away. He wants to keep the taste of Zach on his lips for as long as possible.

*

Chris purses his lips and drops his fork in his Chinese takeout container.

"So let me get this straight," he says. "He doesn't eat meat. Okay, forgivable."

Karl shrugs, sipping his iced tea. "Forgivable," he agrees.

"Oh, Jesus," John mutters, rolling his eyes.

"He doesn't drink beer," Chris continues, counting off two fingers. He squints as if he can't quite compute what John has told him. "Kind of fucking weird."

"Yep," Karl confirms, nodding. "Everyone drinks beer. That's not normal."

John huffs. "You know, I didn't invite you all the way uptown for lunch because I thought you were the arbiter of normalcy, Karl. Plus, aren't you from New Zealand? They probably bathe in beer down there."

"Stop ragging on my man, John. I think it's nice to have another person around for the Date Breakdown. It adds a new layer to things."

"And I don't know you as well as Chris does," Karl adds, "so it's like having an outside observer."

John eats a piece of sesame chicken moodily. "I still hate you both."

"And _anyway_ ," Chris drawls, "I didn't even get to the _weirdest_ part of all, which is that oh, my _god_ , he doesn't watch _television_? What the ever-loving _fuck_ , man?"

John looks down at his food. He and Karl are quiet as Chris darts his eyes between them, waiting for backup. John prepares himself for Karl to chime in and agree that John should lose Zach's number. Karl twirls lo mein around his fork and exhales, shrugging.

"Forgivable," Karl says.

"What?!" Chris shrieks. John grins suddenly.

"Hey, I knew I invited you here for a reason, Karl."

Chris won't be placated, however. "Who doesn't watch TV at least a little bit?" Chris asks. "Who doesn't own a TV? I mean, come on, we're not living in the 1950s! It's fucking ridiculous!"

"Chris, you don't need a TV to stay informed about the world," Karl says. "Everything is online nowadays. Television news can't hope to keep up. And as for the rest, not everyone enjoys checking their brain at the door for an hour or half hour at a time. You're a writer; you should understand that. Plus, network television is mostly horseshit and you can watch all the good cable shows with a Netflix account."

John beams at Karl, happy to have someone reasonable in his corner. "Yeah...that's one way of looking at it. Thanks, man," he says. Karl shrugs and smiles, to convey that it's no big deal. Chris scowls and stabs a baby corn with his fork.

"You're a traitor," he tells Karl. "I'm not sucking your dick tonight."

"Maybe I'll suck yours."

"No way. The dick store is closed until further notice."

"First of all: gross," John says. "And secondly...the whole point of Date Breakdown is to weigh the pros and cons, right? That's what we always do. But you're only mentioning the cons, Chris. I mean, Zach's smart and he laughs at my jokes and he's really hot, like you said." John pauses as he sees Karl give Chris a suspicious look. Chris waves him off. "Also, he didn't freak out when I told him I was married and haven't been with guys before. And he kissed me."

"He kissed you?" Karl asks, grinning. "You didn't mention that bit before."

"Oh, please," Chris grunts. "What are we, in fifth grade? Everyone kisses on the first date, even people who don't want to see each other again."

"Oh." John deflates slightly. "So you think he didn't...?"

"What? John, no. Shut it, Chris, will you?" Karl shakes his head and kicks Chris under the table, making him twitch. "He _liked_ you. No reason that he wouldn't. And the fact that he kissed you says it all."

"Of course he liked John. John is awesome," Chris says. He prods at his food and sulks. "I'm just _saying_ that maybe he's too weird and not good enough for someone as awesome as John. Is that mean of me? I don't think so, no."

"I liked him," John says. "I know he and I are completely different people and we only had one date, but he seemed like...I dunno. Like someone I could maybe...be with."

Karl smiles broadly at John. "That's fantastic, mate."

"Yeah, great," Chris mutters. He sips moodily from his Diet Coke. "Can't wait to hear what other weirdo things come up."

"Chris, stop being an arse."

"Oh, I'm being an _arse_? Why, because I'm not jumping up and down at the thought of some hipster _douche bag_ taking advantage of John?"

"Guys, come on," John says, squinting.

"You're being an arse because you should be supportive," Karl retorts.

"Fine!" Chris throws his hands up and stands, abandoning his food but taking his Diet Coke. "John, I support you in doing whatever the hell you want. Okay? Karl, I'll see you later but you sure as hell won't see my cock. And, for the record, you live in America and you should learn to say 'ass' already, okay? Not arse. _Ass_."

Chris storms off toward one of the exits to the park and Karl and John watch him go, stunned into silence. John checks his watch to see how far they are into the work day and realizes he has a fun-filled five hours left ahead of him. He clears his throat and regards his food, then Karl.

"Um," he says eloquently.

"If I didn't know better," Karl says. "I'd say that my boyfriend appears to be jealous of your new prospect."

"Um," John repeats. He has a fleeting vision of Karl reaching across the table and choking him with his own tie. "I really don't—"

"Yeah, I know." Karl frowns and stands, gathering his garbage along with Chris'. He throws John a half-smile. "Good luck with Zach."

John bites his lip. He wants to reassure Karl, or at least express his gratitude. But then again, this is the guy who was supposed to have dinner with John at Eatery that one time, not John's best friend. And now said best friend is acting strangely and it's all just...awkward. John ends up waving to Karl like an ineffectual moron.

"Thanks," he says.

It's the best he can come up with.

*

 _From: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
To: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 05:46:43 p.m.  
Subject: You realize..._

 _...that you owe Karl an apology. Right?_

 _From: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 05:47:48 p.m.  
Subject: Re: You realize..._

 _I'm well aware, thanks._

 _How come you're not demanding one of your own?_

John stares at his computer screen, trying to come up with a reply and failing. He's not sure he deserves an apology. And he's not sure he has any idea of what's going on in Chris' head on the other side of their cubicle partition.

*

John manages to rack up a couple of successful dates with Zach over the next two weeks—dinners paired with walks around the city—and there are some nice phone calls and e-mail exchanges in between. At the end of their third date, they end up in Central Park, sitting under a shady, secluded tree and kissing lazily. John can hardly believe that it's going so well, and that there's so little pressure. He doesn't tell Chris much about it, though, for fear of jinxing the entire thing and sending Zach back to Jersey, or worse, Craigslist. Perhaps more surprisingly, Chris rarely asks. John keeps a mental note at the back of his mind to talk to Chris about that weird lunch with Karl, but he never gets around to it.

For their fourth date, John and Zach see a movie together. It's some art-house thing that Zach picked out, affirming John's sneaking suspicion that Zach isn't interested in summer blockbusters. They share a bag of popcorn and Zach keeps a small stack of paper napkins perched on his lap upon which he continually wipes his greasy fingertips. John finds it oddly charming.

They eat at one of John's favorite restaurants after, this place that serves both Middle-Eastern and American fare. Zach orders grilled veggie kabobs and John gets the same thing, with a Diet Coke. They give their menus back to the server and Zach smiles.

"It doesn't bother you that I don't eat meat or drink beer, does it?"

"What? No, not at all." John shakes his head. "I don't care, really."

"Okay." Zach keeps smiling and shrugs. "I just don't want you to think that you have to tailor your diet to suit me when we're together. I really don't care if you order something with meat. I'm not militant about it. And I drink other kinds of alcohol."

John shrugs and tries to explain his order. "I thought it might be rude if I always ate meat or drank beer in front of you. I'm willing to try new things."

"Yes, you've proven that."

Zach slides his leg along John's beneath the table and John almost chokes on the pita bread he's nibbling. He coughs and waves a hand when Zach offers him water.

"I'm okay, really. Thanks."

"Oh, my god." Zach grins and shakes his head. "You're too much, John Cho."

"I'm definitely too something."

Later, when they're done eating and the bill arrives, John picks it up without thinking.

"John!" Zach laughs and holds out his hand. "Give that back."

"I'm old-fashioned, okay? I want to pay. Let me pay. You're an actor. You need someone to feed you and coddle you and keep you healthy-looking enough to get booked."

Zach smirks and sips his water. "That's true. The emaciated guys always get turned away."

"You see what I'm saying to you?"

John puts down his credit card with the bill and Zach lays a hand on top of John's. Zach's palm is warm and soft, and his fingers are lightly furred with silky dark hair. It's kind of a turn-on, as most things about Zach are.

"So, I was wondering," Zach murmurs, loud enough for John to hear but no one else. "I'd like to go back to your place, if that's okay."

"My place?" John repeats. He hopes his voice doesn't sound as squeaky aloud as it does in his head.

"I'd like to see it. To get a better sense of you. You can tell a lot about a person from their living space." Zach smiles reassuringly and strokes the top of John's hand. "We don't have to do anything, I swear. We can even watch TV, if you want."

John quirks a brow. "You want to watch TV?"

Zach bites his lip and shrugs. "Well, tomorrow's Saturday and neither of us has to get up early, so...I don't want to call it a night just yet. I want to keep spending time with you."

John nods calmly, though his mind starts going a mile a minute. He's somewhat of a neat freak, but he hasn't thoroughly cleaned his apartment in at least two weeks and though it's not like there's clutter and clothes everywhere, there might be a stray sock on the sofa or something. Shit, there might be a _sock on the sofa_. John draws in a shaky breath, unable to get the image out of his head. He looks up when he feels Zach squeeze his hand and look at him in concern.

"Hey. You okay? You look like you're about to start hyperventilating."

"Uh...no. No, I'm okay. I'm not doing any kind of ventilating." Zach snorts faintly, giggling, which makes John smile. Hearing Zach laugh always eases John's nerves, somehow. "Yeah, no, you should spend the night. But, um...I still want to take it slow, okay?"

"Of course," Zach says. He nods seriously.

"Okay. And don't judge me if you see a sock on the sofa."

"A sock on the sofa? Heaven forbid. Where I'm from, that's a supreme insult. Worse than sleeping with someone's mother."

"Where are you from again?"

"Pittsburgh."

"Oh, that explains it."

John gives the server his credit card. Zach nudges his knee under the table.

"I'm letting you pay," he says. "But I'm making you breakfast tomorrow."

"Deal," John replies. He smiles despite the nervous butterflies mauling his stomach.

*

They manage to make it out of the elevator and into John's hallway despite being firmly entangled in each other, their lips frenzied as they meet in kiss after sweltering kiss. Zach smells amazing and John feels dizzied with lust, every nerve ending in his body alive and buzzing in a way he hasn't felt in _years_. His hands are fisted tight in Zach's striped shirt and his tongue is busy remembering what it's like to plunder a warm, willing mouth. Zach steers him back against the cream-colored wall and swiftly takes control of the kiss. John lets out a somewhat embarrassing moan, but it's mostly swallowed up as Zach curls his tongue against the roof of John's mouth. He grabs Zach's hip, pulling him closer. There's a strong hand on John's waist, drifting lower, and fuck, this is it, isn't? John throws caution to the wind, lifting his hips in invitation, and then—

Zach breaks the kiss and moves away. The fuck?

"Wha...?" John asks, still dizzy and now bewildered. "What's happening?"

"I'm...respecting your boundaries?" Zach asks. He looks slightly bewildered, too, like he can't figure out exactly why he stopped kissing John. But a new fire lights behind his eyes when he realizes his mistake. "Can I—should I keep going?"

"Um." John blinks, not knowing how to answer. Ten seconds ago, he was totally caught up in the moment, ready to try almost anything. But now they've stopped and Zach is asking questions and John can _feel_ the gears turning in his head. And that's never a good thing. He bites his lip and feels his nerves spike, getting in the way of all that pleasant arousal he was feeling less than a minute ago. That _was_ arousal, wasn't it? John licks his lips and nods once. "Sure. Yeah, go on. Why not."

"Why not?" Zach repeats. He blinks owlishly and cringes as realization dawns. "Ah, shit. You're out of the moment."

"No, it's cool," John insists. He gestures to himself. "You can, y'know, sex me up."

"Oh, my god. No." Zach shakes his head and kisses John's cheek, leading him down the hall. "We're watching TV. Which door are you?"

"3C," John answers. He makes sure to look petulant but secretly, he's kind of relieved. He's sure Zach can sense it, too.

The major networks are all showing reruns before sweeps kick into gear and there's nothing much on. They end up settling on reruns of _The Office_ , which Zach has never seen. Half of John can't believe that Zach has completely missed out on the entire run of a show that's so deeply ingrained in the cultural consciousness. His other half is oddly charmed by Zach's ignorance. He gets a kick out of answering questions about the background of the show and the way Zach keeps changing his mind about his favorite character—first Dwight, then Creed, Dwight again, and then Angela, _definitely_ Angela. And every time he laughs, he sounds genuinely surprised to be doing it. John thinks it's like the sound of a champagne bottle opening every time, though Chris could probably think of a better simile.

By the end of the second episode, Zach's head has found its way onto John's shoulder, and John's arm around Zach's shoulders. John didn't even realize he was holding Zach so intimately. He reminds himself that this is only the fourth date and things shouldn't move too fast. Though, if Chris' experiences in the world of gay sex are anything to go by, John should be thinking of pet names for each of Zach's pubic hairs by now.

Also, he really needs to stop thinking about Chris. Zach is here and Zach is much more interesting, what with the way he's touching John's knee and grinning nonstop at the television.

"Okay, you win," Zach says, as the credits roll. "I like this show."

John smirks. "I promise I won't tell anyone, if that helps."

"That does help." He shifts and John tenses, wondering how to adjust his arm to suit them both. Zach sits up and smiles. "Here, we're doing this all wrong, anyway," he says. He nudges John to move and then leans back on the sofa pillows. John blinks in surprise when Zach pulls him back into a reclining position and he's suddenly wrapped in Zach's embrace. He can feel the other man's heartbeat against his back and it's only odd for a moment. "Better, right?" Zach asks. John nods and wills himself to relax.

"I'm sitting between your legs," he observes.

"And you're a perfect fit," Zach says.

"I swear to god, man. You and the good lines. Stop being so awesome."

"I'll try to be, if you lend me a T-shirt to sleep in."

John tries to ignore the obvious stirring in his pants at the idea of Zach in one of his T-shirts. Chances are it's going to be too tight, given that Zach's a little more muscular than he is—probably from all the yoga and jogging he claims to do. Yep, it'll be way too tight. It might even ride up his torso a bit.

"Sure," John manages to say. "No problem."

*

John wakes to the smell of food. He has no idea who could be making him food. Kerri used to make him food, when she wasn't sleeping off a late night at the office. Nowadays, John settles for cereal in the mornings or toast if he's feeling fancy. He lifts his head from his pillow groggily and looks around at the empty bedroom. Then he breathes in a familiar scent, sees the rumpled sheets on the other side of the bed and remembers.

"Zach?" John calls.

"In the kitchen!" he hears from the other room.

When John pads into the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, he sees Zach by the stove, building twin piles of pancakes. He's still in John's T-shirt, an old black one with a Star Wars logo on it, and yes, it does ride up a bit, exposing a tantalizing bit of skin around Zach's middle. He's also in his boxer shorts and a pair of John's flip-flops. John has a fleeting, hazy memory of turning in the middle of the night and cuddling Zach, pushing his nose against his shoulder and feeling a warm sense of contentment. When Zach turns and smiles at him, John feels that same happy glow all over again.

He can hardly believe that this is only the continuation of their fourth date.

"Hey," Zach says. His smile is wide and his eyes are bright, and John can tell that Zach is a bona fide morning person. "Hope you don't mind that I borrowed your flip-flops. I needed to run downstairs and buy some fruit." He motions to the raspberries and peaches on the counter.

"You're making pancakes," John notes. He sort of can't believe this, either. "Fruit?"

"You sound like you need coffee." Zach smiles and pours a freshly brewed mug for John. "I don't know how you take it."

"Uh...yeah. Black is good. A little sugar?"

Zach nods and finds the sugar on the counter, stirring some in for John. "You have epic bed hair, you know."

"Yeah, it tries to escape from my scalp during the night."

"As long as you wake up in time to stop it." Zach walks over to hand John the mug and grins. "Black...with a little sugar." He leans down the few inches necessary to kiss John on the lips. John makes a sound in the back of his throat that almost sounds like a purr.

"Coffee, breakfast, and kisses," he muses when Zach pulls back. "I might force you to stay here forever. You're too valuable to let go." Then his stomach rumbles audibly and Zach laughs.

"I think that's your empty stomach talking. Do you have maple syrup?"

John nods. "In the second cabinet from the left," he says.

Just then, the doorbell rings and John looks toward the living room, scratching his head. He's not expecting any packages.

"Go ahead and get that," Zach says. "I need to cut up the peaches."

John smiles and goes to get the door. He opens his mouth in surprise when he sees Chris standing on the other side, dressed in a dark denim jacket and skinny black jeans, ready to go out on the town. He smiles at John expectantly, his bushy eyebrows raised.

"So you _are_ alive," Chris says. "I sent you an e-mail earlier. Wanna do brunch? I'm fucking starving and I'm thinking maximum carbs."

"I'm not, um..." John utters, blinking. "I didn't get it? The e-mail. I haven't checked it yet."

Chris laughs. "You're kidding. Don't you normally make a beeline from the bed to your inbox every morning?"

"Today is, uh...different. I guess."

"Hey, John!" Zach suddenly calls from behind him. "I can't find the syrup."

Zach walks over to the door, where John and Chris are standing. He licks raspberry juice from his fingers, with John's T-shirt still rucked up around his middle. Chris' eyes nearly bug out of his head as he takes in the sight in front of him. John begins to feel about eight different shades of uncomfortable as the other two men stand there and size each other up. He wish he knew why he felt so uncomfortable, actually.

"Oh," Chris says tightly. "You're busy. You should have said."

"I just woke up," John says meekly. "I'm still processing."

"He's only had, like, two sips of coffee," Zach adds. "Sorry to interrupt. I'm Zach." He smiles and holds out a hand to Chris, the one he was just licking clean. Chris looks down at the proffered hand and wrinkles his nose before reluctantly taking it in a handshake.

"Chris," he says. He seems to fix his gaze on a point somewhere between John and Zach's heads.

"Nice to meet you. John's told me a lot about you," Zach replies. He's still all smiles and whether he's oblivious of the tension or simply ignoring it, John can't tell. "I was just making breakfast. Do you like pancakes? There's more than enough."

Chris pulls back his hand as soon as the handshake dissolves and discreetly wipes it off on his jeans. He comes up with another terse, fake smile. Chris has never been the best at hiding his feelings, whatever they may be. Suffice to say, Chris doesn't seem to care for Zach, and it's horribly obvious.

"I don't want to intrude. I didn't know John had company and I'm heading out anyway, so...enjoy your pancakes."

Then Chris is gone before anyone can protest. John doesn't know what to do beyond staring at Chris' back as he heads down to the elevators. He shuts and locks his door, looking to Zach with a grimace.

"I swear he's not usually that much of an asshole. I mean, he is, but it's more of the lovable sort."

Zach splays his hands. "Well, I mean...I offered him pancakes?"

"Yeah, and I've never seen him turn down a free meal, either." John groans and runs his palms over his face. "Seriously, I don't know what his problem is. He's been weird ever since my first date with you. I'm sorry."

"It's cool. I just wish I'd made a better first impression. Considering that he's your best friend and all." Zach sighs, shrugging apologetically. "I mean, I could be way off here, but do you think he might have...feelings for you?"

John can practically feel his heart drop into his stomach, all wet and spongy. "What? No. That's ridiculous. Of course not."

"It's not so ridiculous," Zach says. He smiles softly. "Listen, I'm probably totally wrong and it's no big deal. Come on, your pancakes are getting cold."

"Well, the least I can do is eat all of them, since you went to the trouble of making them."

"Agreed."

John's lips curve into a small smile as Zach kisses him and leads him back into the kitchen. He knows he has to get to the bottom of this Chris thing, but the drama can wait for now. He's got pancakes to eat.

*

 _From: zsaldana@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 10:38:21 a.m.  
Subject: Meeting_

 _In my office, now._

 _Z_

John walks into Zoe's office with his pen and notebook ready, expecting to see the rest of the research staff. He's surprised to see Zoe alone, typing quickly with her long, elegant fingers. Somehow, Zoe manages to make even a task as mundane as typing graceful.

"Cho," she says, motioning to the seat across from her. "Close the door and have a seat."

"Hey, Z," he ventures. He shuts the door, as requested, and goes to sit, feeling slightly nervous. "I didn't miss anything in that _White Collar_ piece, did I? I looked it over twice, just to be sure."

"Oh, please. That shit was flawless." Zoe stops typing and nudges her keyboard away, smiling to him. "I just wanted to powwow about your crankypants BFF out there."

"Chris?"

"He's been stalking around like a pissed-off grizzly all morning. I thought maybe you could fill me in, just in case it's something serious. Otherwise, I'll have to smack him upside his head about it."

John tucks his pen behind his ear and frowns. "I'm not really sure. He's kind of ignoring me right now. He went through all this trouble to get me to start going on dates and now that I kinda met someone, he's being all weird about it. Which doesn't make sense, because he's head over heels for this other guy."

"Chris has a boyfriend?" Zoe interrupts. She huffs and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest haughtily. "That is so annoying."

"Is it?" John asks, quirking a grin. He _knew_ Zoe had a thing for Chris.

She waves a hand and sighs. "And you, too. All the hot men are gay. Especially around these parts."

"Not _all_ of them," John drawls.

"Hush," Zoe says quickly, but she smiles. "I know I'm not too discreet. But he's cute and, well...eager."

"Not judging at all, Z," John says, raising his hands. "Even if he is twenty-two and you're—"

"Twenty-five, yes, I know." Zoe laughs, her eyes twinkling. She motions to the door. "Listen. I've got an eleven o'clock. Try to talk to Sadpants McScowly for me?"

John exhales, feeling doubtful he can do anything, but he nods. For Zoe, the best boss he's ever had, he'll do his best.

He ends up cornering Chris in the men's room. Chris has presumably already relieved himself and is now trying to train his hair into a perfect side swoop. The sight of John creeping up behind him in the mirror nearly makes Chris jump through the ceiling.

"Jesus, John! Warn a guy!"

"I didn't know what else to do. You've been ignoring all of my e-mails about which character on _Friends_ was the gayest."

Chris scowls at him, turning on the tap to wash his hands. "You know the answer is obviously Ross. So, what do you really want?"

"Zoe wants to know why you're stalking around the office like someone flushed your favorite dildo." John props his hands on his hips. "And, frankly, so do I."

"'Frankly,' my virgin-tight asshole." Chris goes to dry his hands, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. "Speaking of, how's Zach enjoying yours?"

"What?!"

"Ugh, nothing, man. Nothing, okay?" He purses his lips and looks halfway remorseful. "I'm just having a bad day. Do I have to be the life of the office all the time?"

"No, but—back up a minute." John shakes his head, flustered, and hopes like hell that no one else is in the bathroom with them. "What the hell is your problem with Zach? You were the one who encouraged me to go out with him!"

"Yeah, well, you could have told me you were already sleeping with him! I mean, I've barely spoken to you outside of work in weeks, and then I show up and the dude is standing there in your _T-shirt_ , and—"

"Fuck, Pine, even if I were, it's none of your business! And I'm not, okay?" John grits his teeth, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "He slept over at my apartment. Just slept, in the baby-in-a-crib sense. We haven't done anything beyond kiss because I'm too much of a fucking pussy, okay?"

Chris blinks, taken aback. "Just...slept?" He has this look about him, as though he can't comprehend what John's saying. There might be some pity mixed in there, too.

"Yeah. Just slept. Does that compute? I don't know how to just fall into bed with a person, Chris. I'm not you."

Chris stiffens and scowls at John anew. John gets a dry feeling in his throat, knowing he's let the wrong words escape. Chris moves to leave the restroom and John steps in front of him, pressing a hand to his chest, hard enough to feel the fast heartbeat beneath.

"Wait," John says. When Chris actually stops, John's mouth starts running before his brain can keep up. "Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't—I mean, I just—it's... Are you in love with me?"

"Are you mentally deficient?" Chris snarls, poking John hard in the forehead. "I'm going home early. Tell Zoe she can dock my pay, if she wants."

Then Chris is gone, leaving John alone, rubbing his sore forehead. He winces and shifts uneasily on his feet, looking up in surprise when Anton's head pops out of one of the stalls.

"Dude," he says. "I totally thought you'd slept with a guy before!"

John grunts. "Oh, go bone Zoe or something."

"I was just _gonna_."

*

John takes a few steps out of the PATH train station and looks around, making a show of sniffing the air.

"Well, it _smells_ the same," he muses. "But I'm not convinced we're still on Earth."

Zach snorts and elbows John playfully, then pauses to adjust the strap of his messenger bag. It didn't take too much convincing to get John over from Manhattan to Jersey City; he doesn't have any sort of TFF rule and he knows from experience how surprisingly quick the PATH can be. Plus, he's excited to see Zach's apartment and learn about that part of his life, especially now that Zach knows all about his place, and has slept over a small handful of times. The pancakes, sadly, were a one-time thing, but John finds he enjoys eating cereal while snuggled up next to Zach on the sofa just as much.

"As a wise woman once said, 'You leave New York and L.A., and you leave the world,'" Zach says.

"Who said that?"

"Joan Rivers."

"Oh, god," John says, laughing. "I need to remember that your frame of pop-culture reference consists solely of gay icons and divas."

"That's not true," Zach huffs. He gestures as he leads the way toward his building. "I also like, um...Tori Amos."

John has to pause so he can bend forward and take a deep breath, rather than laugh in Zach's face. Then he lifts up again and nods. "Sorry. I needed a moment," he explains. Zach rolls his eyes.

"Why do I like you again?"

"You know I don't know the answer to that."

Zach's apartment is on the second floor of a three-story house, modestly decorated with a minimalist's eye. There are some telltale tchotchkes here and there that speak to a childhood spent in Western Pennsylvania: ugly picture frames, mugs with stupid phrases on them. Also a lot of votives and at least one incense box. John hates the smell of incense and regularly clasps his hand over his mouth and nose when he has the misfortune of passing a vendor on the street. He decides not to say anything and just be thankful that Zach isn't lighting any at the moment. Too warm, he supposes.

"So, here's the humble homestead," Zach says, locking the door as John looks around. "And where's my—oh, there he is!"

A scruffy gray dog comes bounding in from the other room, attacking Zach with devoted nuzzles and lots of excited tail wagging. Zach immediately bends to return the affection and lets the dog lick all over his face. Seriously, all over his face. It's one of the most unhygienic things that John has ever seen. He wrinkles his nose and tries not to look disgusted. Zach looks up with a big grin, rubbing the dog's ears.

"I'll wash my face, promise," he says.

"What? I wasn't—I don't care, man," John says, trying to wave it off. Zach laughs.

"Yeah, this coming from the guy who whipped out the Purell as soon as we got off the PATH train."

"You don't know how many people on the train don't wash their hands. And with all the random illnesses going around in this city—"

"I get it," Zach says, cutting him off. He laughs again and turns the dog's head to face John. "John, this is Noah. Noah, this is John, aka The Craziest Person in the Room."

"Ha ha," John drawls. He crouches down to get closer to Noah, offering his hand for Noah to sniff. John's not much of an animal person in general—a sticking point with Kerri was how much she wanted a pet, despite John's protests about animal hair getting all over everything—but he knows he needs to learn to be more flexible. Besides, this is one of the animals Zach gushed about so openly in his Craigslist ad; the ones that make all other house pets look like "gutter trash." John clears his throat and cocks his head to try and appear friendly. "Hiya, Noah," he says.

Noah does John the favor of leaning forward to take a requisite sniff of his palm. Then he pulls back with the keenest look of disinterest that John's ever seen on a dog, and burrows back against Zach. John frowns and reaches out to pet Noah's back. The low but distinct growl Noah emits has him pulling back his hand immediately.

"Noah!" Zach admonishes. Noah just wags his tail again. Zach looks at John, puzzled. "That's so odd. He's usually the friendliest dog ever, even around strangers."

"Great," John sighs. "Your dog hates me." He stands up and brushes his knees off, looking around nervously. He imagines this is the worst possible thing that could happen, given how attached Zach is to his pets.

"He doesn't _hate_ you," Zach says. "He's probably just anxious because I haven't been around as much lately. And I bet he recognizes your scent from when I've stayed over at your place before."

"So, now I'm the big, bad man who took his daddy away?"

"John, chill. It's not as dire as all that. Here, he's also probably hungry. Let me go feed him, okay?"

John nods and watches as Zach tends to the food and water bowls in the kitchen. He leans against the counter and nearly jumps when he feels something brush against his leg that's too small to be Noah. It's Zach's cat—Harold, he remembers—and he's winding himself around John's ankles and purring like crazy. "Hey there," John says, and reaches down to pick Harold up. He has no idea how to hold an animal, just as he has no idea how to hold a baby, and he ends up confusing the two, cradling Harold in two arms like he's a newborn bundle in the hospital nursery. Zach stands after he's done preparing the bowls and gives John and Harold an unfettered look of shock.

"Okay, that?" Zach asks, pointing at them. "Is weird. Way weirder than Noah snubbing you. Harold doesn't let _anyone_ hold him like that. _Ever._ "

"Yeah?" John bounces Harold a little and tries not to let his swelling pride show. Much. Harold meows in approval. "I guess he likes me."

"I'm floored," Zach says, grinning and shaking his head. "Once again, you astound me, John Cho."

*

They get takeout and end up playing Scrabble, since Zach doesn't own a television set. Zach wastes little time in handing John's ass to him, two games in a row. John wants to blame his performance on the half-bottle of white wine he's imbibed since arriving, but knows it's no use; Chris always beats him in Scrabble, too, though Chris always beats everyone in any word game he plays. Zach might actually be a good match for Chris. In Scrabble. Only Scrabble.

Zach moves to top off John's glass with what's left in the bottle, but John stops him. Even if thinking about Chris makes him want to drink more.

"M'good," he says, trying not to slur. "Low Asian tolerance. Trust me."

"Yeah? Okay." Zach laughs and pours the rest for himself, then shifts closer to John on the carpet. "So are you saying you're drunk?"

"Not drunk, just...tipsy." John smiles at Zach. Zach, who is so, so, painfully good-looking and who John wants to see naked so badly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh oh, here comes the tipsy talk." Zach bends his legs beneath him in a way that doesn't seem humanly possible. "Sure, I guess."

John squints as he thinks his question out, which is hard to do with half of a bottle of wine soaking into his brain. When he gets it out, it's a little more exaggerated and dramatic than he would like.

"Why _do_ you like me?"

"Seriously?" Zach asks, laughing. He reaches over and runs his fingers through John's hair. It feels achingly good and John tries not to shiver. "You're seriously asking that."

"Yeah, well, I mean..." John puts his glass down, gesturing with both hands. "I can't figure it out. You're so hip and you have all these _passions_ and you're laid-back and all suave..."

"Suave?" Zach's grin is wicked. "I hope you remember this, because I'm never going to let you forget that you called me 'suave.'"

"Shut up! I just mean...you probably thought you'd pick up some hot twink when you posted that ad. And then you got me, and like, I didn't even know I was gay, until a minute ago. I mean, I _knew_ , but I was married. And I'm a neat freak and I'm obsessive and weird and I get drunk and ask stupid questions, and I haven't even let you _look_ at my dick, and you're probably this close to saying to hell with it, and—"

"John." Zach grabs him by his chin and forces John to look at him. His dark eyebrows are lifted and his brown eyes are clear, despite the wine. John really wants to lean in and kiss his face off but he's sure Zach has something semi-important to say. "Remember what I said I was looking for in my ad?" he asks.

"Um...a solid guy. An eight ball. Corner pocket."

"Yes, but also. I said I was looking for a guy who was smart, funny, and good-natured. And you're all three of those things." Zach leans in and kisses John's puckered lips softly. "Plus, you remind me all the time that there's a whole world outside the little bubble I've made for myself. I've known you for, what? A little over a month? And you've already taught me all these new things. I had no idea what _Gossip Girl_ even was before I met you." Zach lets go of John's chin and kisses him again, lingering this time. John tries to follow Zach's mouth when they part. "Also, you're stupidly handsome, and I don't mind waiting for sex as long as I get to look at your face."

"Are you sure? Chris thinks it's weird."

Zach tilts his head. "Do I look like Chris to you?"

"No." John gazes down at his hands in his lap. "And anyway...you're not like that, right?" he whispers.

"Like what?"

"You won't just..."

John purses his lips, not knowing exactly how to voice his fears. The truth is, ever since he came out of the closet, he's been transported back to puberty all over again, trying to navigate his way through a new world of sex that's both similar and so very different from the one he previously tackled. And while Chris has been more than helpful in guiding him along this unfamiliar path, John tacitly understands that gay culture is something that will always be foreign to him. It's an intimidating lifestyle, packed wall to wall with intimidating people. He thinks of Eric the personal trainer, who put up with the pretense of a date because he wanted a quick fuck, and Karl, who seemed genuinely sweet—and _is_ genuinely sweet—yet was totally distracted by Chris' roguish good looks and swimmer's build. John's always just been a regular guy—a guy who sits in a cubicle and does research all day, and goes home and reads blogs and watches TV until he passes out. He knows full well that he's not the type of person who gets laid in New York City, but he's not sure how to be anyone else.

"Hey," he hears, and then Zach kisses his forehead. "You're drifting. Let me get you some water and put you to bed, okay?"

"No, but," John whines faintly. "I was gonna say that we should have sex tonight."

"I'm not having sex with you for the first time when you're drunk. What kind of date rapist do you take me for?"

"A really hot one?"

Zach laughs and helps John to his feet. "Come on, stud," he says.

John drinks a full glass of water at Zach's behest and sighs as Zach undresses him. He wishes his alcohol tolerance were better and that he could actually get it up. Wine always zaps his energy.

"Okay," Zach says, when John is down to his boxers and tucked under the sheets. "I'm gonna do my nightly routine and then I'll be back. So go to sleep, okay?"

"Promise?" John asks, giving Zach a suspicious look. As if there's an escape route in Zach's bathroom, through the shower drain or the tiny frosted glass window.

"I promise." Zach kisses the corner of his mouth and smiles wryly. "And, for the record, no, I'm not like that, and I'll only tell you so once before I get offended that you'd even think so. Also, you _are_ a hot twink."

"Hey, m'not a twink," is the last thing John says before he passes out.

*

John feels a disturbance on the bed and makes a perturbed sound when Zach's warmth goes away. He's placated by a kiss on his bare shoulder. He drifts off again, vaguely registering the sounds of Zach puttering around his apartment, likely making sure the pets get fed, using the bathroom, putting on the coffeemaker. John yawns and rolls onto his back, stretching lazily and inhaling Zach's scent, spread all over the bed. It's nice. Really nice. He could get used to this.

Then he sees Zach step into the bedroom, wearing nothing but a navy pair of boxer briefs, and his mouth goes dry with want. Fuck, Zach is _gorgeous_. John always suspected he was hiding a magnificent body under his clothes. His pale, perfect skin is generously dusted with dark hair and his limbs are graceful yet solidly muscled, implying that yoga really does do a body good. He's a got a broad chest too, which slopes down to a narrow waist and hips. And maybe his chest hair's a little oddly patterned, but somehow, it all just _works_ in a way that has John's morning wood turning to morning steel.

Zach pauses when John stares at him, and he must note the way John's pupils dilate with lust, because his own eyes darken deliciously in return.

"Fuck, c'mere," John says, and Zach doesn't need any further instruction than that. He goes to the bed and drapes himself on top of John, straddling his legs and sifting a hand into his hair. John pulls him close and kisses him hungrily, pressing their bodies together. His breath probably smells rank, having neglected to brush his teeth last night and this morning, but he doesn't really give a flying shit. Zach's mouth is so hot and his skin is flushed warm from sleep and John wants to wrap around Zach's body like a barnacle, so he does.

They make out desperately for a few minutes, until they're both straining in their underwear. Then Zach breaks the kiss, tonguing at John's front teeth in a way that makes John's stomach drop to his knees.

"What do you want?" Zach asks, his mouth pink and swollen from John's kisses. It's a beautiful contrast against his morning scruff.

"Fuck, just—anything, something new. Let's try something."

"Can I blow you?" Zach asks. He licks his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue; they glisten as though they're meant for nothing more than sucking John's cock. John moans, his heart speeding up.

"Yeah, I mean—yeah. Fuck, yeah."

Zach nods and moves his way down John's body, looking up. "You _have_ had a blowjob before, right?"

"What?" John huffs and wipes a bit of sweat from his forehead. "Yes, of course."

"Just making sure. It'll be just like that, except gay. And by 'gay,' I mean better." Zach grins as he pulls down John's boxers, and John pauses in his laughter to gasp when the cool air hits his cock. He's been jerking off to mental images of this moment for weeks but nothing can top the honest-to-god sight of Zach's mouth hovering inches over his exposed length. Zach runs his fingers along the hardened shaft, traces the pronounced vein slowly. John trembles and sucks in a gulp of air. "Hey, John," Zach says, peering up. John meets his teasing gaze. "I'm looking at your dick."

"Please do more than look at it, or I'm going to be really upset," John answers, half-pleading.

"Oh, fine," Zach says, teasing again. Then he takes hold of the base of John's cock and licks broadly up and down the underside of the shaft. Zach sucks the head between his gorgeous lips and John is _gone_. Sure, he's had blowjobs before, but Zach was right—he's amazing at this, working John's cock with his mouth and hand, carefully rolling John's balls in his palm, getting everything slick and hot. Zach moans, the vibrations coursing through John at just the right moments, and he swirls his tongue expertly, tonguing the sensitive skin below the head and along the slit.

John, of course, has no idea what to do with his hands. Kerri only let him tug on her hair once in a while, when she was in the mood for it. Zach hasn't ever said anything about it and John's afraid to do anything that will ruin his chances for completion of the best blowjob ever. He touches Zach's nape with shaky fingers and runs them up along the back of his scalp, threading them through the silky, dark hair there. Zach moans encouragingly around his cock and looks up, pulling off to mouth at his balls.

"You can," Zach murmurs, tonguing the base of John's cock. "I like it."

"Fuck, you are the best _ever_ ," John says in a rush.

Zach smiles and takes John's cock into his mouth again, bobbing as he focuses on the head and stroking the base, now wet with his spit. John groans and tugs lightly on Zach's hair, already so close to the edge that he can taste it at the back of his throat. He keeps himself from bucking and grunts with the effort, huffing out a breath.

"Zach, I—m'gonna..." John warns. They talked long ago about testing and all that, so he knows it'll be fine if Zach swallows, but he wants to give him the option. Zach's response is a tender press of fingers against his perineum. John curses loudly just before he flies into an explosive orgasm.

When John manages to open his eyes again, Zach is looming over him, licking his lips and smiling.

"Hi," he whispers. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yeah, of course," John murmurs. He doesn't know why Zach is even asking. Then they kiss and he tastes his come on Zach's tongue and realizes why Zach was asking. But it's okay. It's more than okay. He sweeps his tongue inside Zach's mouth and Zach moans, pressing himself against John's hip.

And that's...Zach's cock down there. Zach's hot, hard, heavy cock.

"Shit," John says, breaking the kiss. "You need to come. What should I do?"

Zach blinks and laughs abruptly. "Um...I'm sure whatever you want will be great. You could, um...touch me?"

"Yeah, okay," John says. He nods, determined, and motions for Zach to lie down. "You'll strain yourself," he adds. Zach laughs again and lounges back on the bed. John kicks off his own boxers and carefully pulls down Zach's as well, freeing his cock and staring as it bobs up against his stomach. It's flushed red and wet at the tip. John swallows, realizing just how much Zach enjoyed giving him that blowjob. He runs his fingers through the dark patch of curls and tugs very gently, which causes Zach's hips to jerk, his cock bouncing.

"Fuck," Zach hisses. He looks up at John and licks his lips. "Go on, baby."

John fights a blush. No one has ever called him that in bed before. He's not sure how he feels about it just yet. "Kinda have no idea what I'm doing here, man," he whispers.

"Just think about what would feel good to you and do that to me," Zach says. "I know it's intense. Don't over think it."

John absorbs this and nods, licking his palm and then sliding it along the underside of Zach's cock slowly. He smiles when Zach shudders and wraps his fingers around Zach properly, running his thumb through the precome gathered on the head. John rubs it all along the shaft, using it as lubricant as he starts to jack him. Zach groans and lifts his hips, fucking up into it, and John tightens his grip slightly, rhythmically tugging at Zach's cock and occasionally teasing the tip.

"Shit, John," Zach gasps. He reaches up to run his fingers through John's hair. "You're a natural, what'd I tell you?"

"Don't say that, you'll harsh my buzz," John quips. He watches Zach's face and decides to step it up, lowering his other hand to Zach's balls and cupping them, squeezing lightly. They're fuzzy with dark hair, just like most of Zach, and they tighten in his grip, pulling up toward Zach's body. John smiles and goes with the momentum. He straddles Zach's thigh and bends to lick his nipple, lightly grazing it with his teeth on a smooth upstroke. Zach bucks and groans in surprise, grabbing at John's bicep.

"Fuck! Oh, my god... Fucking look at you, oh, my god..."

"Zach," John whispers. He feels a surge of lust watching Zach fall apart in his hands, his confidence surging at the sight. John strokes just behind Zach's sac and speeds up the hand on his cock, breathing hotly over his damp skin. "Come on, Zach. Wanna see you..."

Zach lets out a keening sound before he jerks up into John's fist and comes, streaking white over his stomach and John's hand. He's gorgeous when he releases, his dark eyebrows knitting together and then relaxing in bliss as his head lolls back against the pillow. John watches Zach's chest heave and presses his face to it for a moment, exhaling when Zach clasps his nape in return.

"Oh, my god," Zach whispers, still breathing heavily. "That...was so worth the wait, John."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. C'mere. Jesus."

Zach pulls him up for a deep, probing kiss, and John swears he can feel his cock start to stir again. He feels giddy, realizing exactly what just happened, and he's sticky with sweat and Zach's come, but he doesn't even care. He feels like he can do anything with Zach, anything at all. And he wants to do everything.

"Zaaaach?" John suddenly hears. It's a new voice. A woman's voice. Then the overhead light comes to life. "Wake up already, you sleepy—oh, shit!"

"Shit!" Zach repeats, pulling away from John and grabbing at the covers. John falls back against the pillows, startled and panicked, and tries to help Zach in the effort to cover up. He looks wildly back and forth between Zach and the woman shielding her eyes by the bedroom door. Zach looks at her as if he knows her. "Kristen! What the fuck?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_!" she yells, still shielding her eyes. "I didn't know! Are all the dangly bits put away yet? I'm sorry!"

"Yes, we're—" Zach looks over at John to make sure he's okay, and John nods dutifully, still rather jarred by the interruption. "Yeah, we're fine now," Zach says.

"Okay." Kristen puts her hand down and looks embarrassed, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. John squints to see her better and recognizes her as the girl from the Craigslist photo: Zach's best friend. She's blonde, petite and quite cute, like a pixie. "I'm _really_ sorry, you guys. I thought Zach and I were supposed to have brunch today, and I have the key to the apartment, so..."

"Fuckin' brunch, man," John murmurs, shaking his head. "What's up with that?" Zach looks at him and laughs, running a hand over his face.

"Krissy, are you sure? Shit. I probably double-booked. I need to get a new planner, mine is worthless."

"It's okay! We can totally do it tomorrow. I should have called. I mean, I _did_ call, but you didn't pick up. So I was worried." Kristen shrugs and then looks at John, waving as she cringes. "Hi, I'm Kristen. You must be John."

"Yeah, hi," John says, putting on a smile. He's still got the covers pulled up to his chin. "I'd shake your hand, but, um."

"Yeah, no. I know. Icky." She laughs nervously and clasps her hands together, taking an exaggerated step backward. "I will...call you later, Zach! If that's cool."

"Yeah, that's fine," Zach says, smiling indulgently. "I'll pick up, I promise. Lock the door on your way out?"

Kristen nods and reaches for the doorknob, stepping out. "Yep! Bye! Nice meeting you, John!"

"Ah...same!" he calls after her. As soon as they hear the front door shut, he and Zach look at each other and fall into hysterical laughter. "Holy shit," John says, between giggles. "And you thought _you_ made a bad impression!"

"It was her own fault! I mean, seriously, I don't answer one call and she thinks I'm lying here dead?"

"It's sweet, I guess." John snorts and wipes at his eyes. "I'll look forward to meeting her at a future point in time when I have more clothes on."

"You definitely will. I could always invite her back to have lunch with us today." Zach ponders his own idea and then smiles down at John. "On second thought...how about it's just you and me today, then you spend the night again, and we have brunch with Kristen tomorrow? Sound good?"

John shivers as Zach runs a hand over his chest beneath the covers. "Yeah. Really good," he murmurs. He thinks for a moment and then touches Zach's wrist. "She knew who I was," he says.

"I may or may not have raved about you a little." Zach shrugs shyly and smirks. "Plus, I'm only dating one Korean guy right now. I told the others to get lost."

They both laugh and John swats Zach's shoulder. "Asshole," he says fondly.

*

 _From: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 11:23:18 a.m.  
Subject: Hey_

 _Good weekend?_

 _From: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
To: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 11:24:34 a.m.  
Subject: Re: Hey_

 _Yeah, pretty good._

 _Does this mean you're speaking to me again?_

 _From: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 11:25:06 a.m.  
Subject: Re: Re: Hey_

 _Looks like. Lunch?_

Thirty-five minutes later, John unwraps a turkey sandwich on rye at a table in Bryant Park. Chris sits across from him, appraising a roast beef sandwich and sipping from a Diet Coke.

"So, here's the thing," Chris says, putting his soda down. "I know I've been a little...cranky."

"Cranky, yes," John agrees.

Chris purses his lips. "Karl and I have been fighting."

"That sucks, man." John squints to see Chris, the sun blazing overhead. It's getting to that point in the spring when it's almost too hot to have lunch outdoors. "What about?"

"Well...at first, he was upset because he thought I was jealous of...y'know. You and Zach." Chris pauses and lifts a finger when John opens his mouth. "Which I'm _not_. Okay? I'm really, really not. I'm nothing but happy and overjoyed that you found a piece of man candy, even if he is some weirdo hippie from the sticks."

"He's from Pittsburgh," John scoffs. "I'm sure they have everything you could ever want there, including Jamba Juice."

"Whatever. That's...no. Besides the point. I'm not jealous—repeat, _not_ jealous." Chris looks haughty in the face of John's disbelieving glare. But that unwavering façade lasts for all of five seconds. "Okay, a little jealous. A _smidge_."

John laughs faintly at the sudden change of heart. "Uh huh. It's cool, man. I get it. I mean, Zach is really hot. I don't blame you for being jealous of me."

"Jealous of _you_?" Chris asks. He leans back in his chair and looks at John with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows. "Dude. I was jealous of _him_."

"Jealous of...him?"

"Yeah. He was...monopolizing you. Wooing you with breakfast and shit. How can I compete with that?"

"Huh. That...didn't even occur to me." John blinks and watches as Chris bites into his sandwich moodily. He crosses his legs under the table and undoes the top button on his shirt, feeling warm. "Well, um...back to Karl, though. What's the problem now? Are you still fighting?"

Chris shrugs, still chewing on his bite. "Yeah, um." He swallows and scratches the back of his neck. "He sort of...asked me to move in with him."

"What?!" John sputters. "So soon? Why didn't you say something?"

Chris rolls his eyes and puts his soda down with a thunk. "Well, maybe I _would have_ , if you were ever _around_ , Cho. Like I said, you've been too busy making pancakes in your pjs and frolicking off to Jersey—which, by the way, if you ask me, is completely—"

"TFF, yes, I know." John bites off a hunk of his sandwich and chews slowly, sighing. "Okay, I get it. I've been too wrapped up in Zach. I thought I was allowed, you know? I mean, I haven't dated anyone since my ex-wife, and I thought..."

"Dude, you're totally allowed," Chris sighs. "I'm sorry I was a tool. It makes sense that Zach is taking up all of your attention. I was all wrapped up in Karl for a while, too. It's...a big deal. For both of us. This is my first serious relationship and this is your first trip to Homoville."

John sips slowly from his soda. "Is it weird that I missed you saying things like 'Homoville'?"

"I have others. Gaytown. Queeropolis. Cockistan?"

"Don't spoil the moment."

"You're no fun."

"I know, I'm the worst. So, what'd you say to Karl?"

Chris grimaces and John can't help but wonder how he's missed so much. Not that spending time with Zach hasn't been awesome—but Chris, his obnoxious best friend with the ass that lives up to the hype, is somewhat of a delicate flower beneath all the bravado. John thinks about Chris and Karl fighting every night and Chris stomping his way through the office each day, and the way John simply took to rolling his eyes and refreshing _Gawker_ for the eight-hundredth time.

"Shit," John says. "Is it that you don't want to, or...?"

"I mean, I _like_ living alone. Kind of. I like my apartment and I've finally got it decorated it the way I want it. And I like living close to you. And our neighborhood is rad. Plus, I finally got Morton Williams to start stocking those little stone wheat thins that I like."

"Kind of?" John repeats, eating more of his sandwich.

"Well...granted, it was a lot more fun to be there when you were always available and I was having sex with a different guy every night." Chris frowns. "I don't know. You said yourself, it's too soon."

"It's really soon," John says, nodding. "But you know how Karl is. He's a total relationship guy. And he's probably anxious to get back to a situation he's familiar with. Before he starts, you know, planning for a wedding on Martha's Vineyard and shit."

Chris holds his straw as he sips from it, looking off dreamily. "Martha's Vineyard is nice."

"God, you're queer, Christopher."

"Fuck you, Captain Gaywad," Chris retorts. He smirks and nudges their knees together under the table, gesturing between them. "See?! This is what our friendship is all about! And you end up missing out when you get caught in a Fag Romance."

"Leave the GaGa out of this." John smirks and nods. "I'll be around more, promise. And I'm sorry for implying that you were, um...loose."

"Damn right you're sorry. I'm anything but. Loose doesn't bring the boys to the yard, John Cho." Chris licks a spot of Russian dressing from his thumb, looking as obscene as ever. "So...you and Zach are good, then?"

"Yeah, really good. So good that I can't even believe it, most of the time." John smiles and feels warmed when Chris smiles back. "I'm sorry I haven't been more forthcoming. I guess I'm afraid of jinxing it."

"You, afraid of jinxing something? Say it ain't so." Chris smirks and points a finger at him. "Well, be prepared, Cho. I'm back to being your fairy god-gay and I want to hear _everything_ from now on."

John sighs, his eyeball twitching. "Swell."

"Hey! Million-dollar idea!" Chris says, lighting up. "Why don't we do a double date? That way, I can get to know the dude a little better, and Karl can see for himself that I'm not all weird about you dating him."

"Um...you think?" John asks, smiling nervously. He has a bad feeling about it, but he can't figure out why. Maybe something was wrong with the sandwich. "Sure, I'll ask Zach about it."

"Awesome." Chris nods and waves a hand. "And don't worry about the other shoe dropping. Just wait 'til you have your first fight. Then you'll be real boyfriends, together forever, and it'll be gravy."

John frowns. "I don't want to have a fight."

"Well, you will." Chris finishes his sandwich and speaks with both cheeks full of half-chewed food. He looks like the gayest chipmunk John has ever seen. Even more so than usual. "Trust."

*

"Fuck, yeah, that's...oh, god, _John_...!"

John looks up from his crouch between Zach's legs and hums around the cock in his mouth, rubbing the inside of Zach's thigh. He's found that he kind of gets off on how vocal Zach is during sex. Also, Zach seems impressed with John's technique and he's already on his way to an orgasm, which means things are going a lot better than the first time they tried this. A _lot_ better.

Zach's breathing grows more erratic with every bob of John's head, his legs splaying further apart. The situation is getting a bit tight in John's jeans and he wants to steer this blowjob toward a finale. He does his best to relax his throat (and yeah, maybe he's been practicing at home on phallic objects per Chris' advice, what of it?) and takes in more of Zach's length, sucking hard. John runs his fingers through the spit that he laved all over Zach's cock and balls earlier and nudges two careful fingertips down below, against Zach's opening (again, Chris' suggestion). Zach makes a shocked noise and twists beneath John, digging his heels into John's mattress. John barely gets a warning before he feels Zach's come flood into his mouth. He does his best to swallow it down and wipes the excess off on his wrist.

"How was that?" he asks, lifting his head. "Better?"

Zach looks down at him dazedly, his hair mussed into a dark cloud on the crisp, white pillow. "What did... Where the fuck did you learn all that?"

"I got some tips," John says, nodding. He really wants to avoid mentioning Chris here. "Did some research. Um...practiced. You know."

"Research? You're so cute." Zach sits up, pulling John into a kiss and licking at his mouth. "Mmm, you taste like me. You know that?"

"Yeah?" John breathes, parting his lips. This is such a better outcome than last time. Sure, Chris found the whole story _hilarious_ , what with the way John choked on Zach's come and pulled back, only to get a spurt right in the eye, but it's not exactly one of John's greatest hits.

"Yeah." Zach noses against John's jaw and unzips John's fly. John lets out a throaty moan when Zach gets his hand around him. "So hard for me, John," Zach whispers. "What do you say? Want me to talk dirty to you while I stroke you off?"

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be good," John agrees. He's still on his knees on the mattress and Zach scoots closer, drawing John close so they're chest to chest. Zach's taller, so John hooks his chin over Zach's shoulder and shuts his eyes when he feels warm breath against his ear. Zach begins to stroke him in earnest and John exhales heavily, sinking into the feeling of it.

"Maybe I should tell you how good you look with my cock in your mouth," Zach whispers. He twists his hand lightly, enough to make John jerk. "You took it so well. I love watching those sexy lips stretch around me."

"Wow, fuck," John huffs, blinking rapidly.

"Too far?"

"No, I'm just surprised I like it so much."

Zach laughs lowly and John half-wonders if this is some of that theater-honed character acting coming out. "I think you like it because you're dirty," Zach murmurs. His fingers do devilish things inside the denim of John's jeans. "You would like it if I made you come inside your pants like a little boy, too, wouldn't you?"

"I—I dunno," John stutters. He's growing painfully hard in Zach's grasp. "I paid a lot of money for these jeans."

"Just a little wet spot." Zach's voice has lowered to a purr, his hand moving faster on John's throbbing length. John rocks his hips, unable to stop himself, his eyes falling shut. He gasps when Zach tugs at his earlobe with his teeth. "That's it, John. Fuck my fist. Come all over my hand and I'll feed it to you, watch as you suck it off, finger by—"

"Ah, _Zach_!" John cries, pulsing hotly over Zach's hand. He grabs Zach's biceps and holds on tightly as his orgasm washes over him, his hips stuttering. When the euphoria subsides, John buries his face in Zach's shoulder and moans. "Fuuuck. M'sorry, I couldn't..."

"Are you kidding? That was like, the hottest thing ever."

"I'm sure." John lifts his head, laughing. "Holy crap, you just made me come in my _pants_ , man."

Zach grins. "I, um...caught most of it?" He lifts his sticky hand gingerly, tilting his head. "Want to?" he asks.

John is pretty sure Zach is the devil incarnate but he nods and gives a smile in return. He's tasted his own come before, so that's no big deal. As soon as he gets Zach's index finger between his lips, it's entirely worth it for the indecent lust that washes over Zach's features. John makes a show of it, sliding his tongue up, down, and between Zach's fingers, and he sucks on his long, elegant middle finger a little longer than necessary. By the time he pulls off, Zach is nearly panting, his eyes more black than brown.

"You have hidden depths, John Cho," he murmurs.

Zach is pretty adamant about getting off again after John's performance, so John ditches the rest of his clothes and they make out, rubbing against each other frantically until they're sticky and spent. After that, they're both starving, so they pull on T-shirts and fresh boxers from John's dresser and Zach makes spaghetti. They eat curled up next to each other on the sofa and watch _Dancing With the Stars_.

"That Evan Lysacek is a tall drink of water," Zach comments, twirling spaghetti around his fork. "Too bad he's a douche. And orange."

"He kinda looks like you."

"Pfft. No way. He's so tall and gangly and...again, orange."

"That's true, you're fair, not orange." John kisses Zach's neck. "I used to wish I had skin like yours, back when I was a kid."

"Yeah?" Zach lifts his brow with interest and smiles. "How come?"

"Oh, you know, American ideal and all that. I thought I would fit in better with the other kids. Not that they were racist, but...when you're young, those stupid little details feel like they matter."

"That makes sense." Zach nods faintly and shrugs. "I always felt like an outcast after my dad died."

"Whoa." John leans back to see Zach clearly. "When was that?"

"When I was seven. Cancer."

"Oh, man." John bites his lip, not quite knowing what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Zach smiles and rubs John's thigh. "It's okay, though. It was a long time ago."

John sighs loudly. "And here I was going to offer you comfort sex."

"Maybe after I'm done digesting."

They watch TV a while longer. John is endlessly amused by the way Zach gets so into _Dancing With the Stars_ , pouting when his favorite teams get mediocre scores from the judges and arguing with the television set. John notices his phone blinking on the table and picks it up, finding a new message from Chris.

 _From: Sadpants McScowly_ (Thank you very much, Ms. Saldana.)  
 _Did you ask him yet? Karl's in. He wants to meet the infamous Zach, too._

John smiles faintly and looks up when Zach tries to read over his shoulder.

"What, your phone's more interesting than me and Evan Lysacek?" he asks.

"It's just a message from Chris. He wants me to ask you about going on a double date with him and his boyfriend."

"Chris?" Zach repeats, his eyes wide and wary. "Chris, who thinks our relationship is weird? And Chris' boyfriend who ditched you for Chris?"

"Um, yeah." John does his best not to squeal at the mention of the word _relationship_. "That's basically water under the bridge, so..."

"Right." Zach nods slowly and chews on his bottom lip. "I'd...actually rather not, if that's okay."

John's jaw drops. "Rather not? You're kidding."

"Well, he didn't seem to like me very much. And his boyfriend must be a royal jerk if he blew you off like that."

"But they want to meet you. And they're my friends; shouldn't you want to meet them? I mean, Kristen and I hit it off, didn't we?"

Zach rolls his eyes as he looks away. "Yeah, you hit it off because Kristen isn't an asshole."

John stiffens. In the back of his mind, he remembers what Chris said about a first fight being inevitable. He could probably defuse it, but...

"Chris and Karl aren't assholes," he says, turning off the TV. He gets up and collects their empty plates, heading to the sink. "I'm ready for bed, I think."

"John, seriously? You said yourself that Chris is an asshole."

"Even if I did, I'm allowed, because he's my friend." John throws the dishes into the sink with a clatter. He thinks of all the nights he ended up getting into fights with Kerri, though those usually stemmed from extreme sexual incompatibility. This is just Zach being a _dick_. It's unsettling. "Yes, he _can_ be an asshole, but if not for him, I would never have gotten up the nerve to even _think_ about looking at Craigslist. So, essentially, Chris Pine is responsible for us standing here right now."

"John?" Zach tilts his head and places his hands on his hips. "You're babbling."

John flinches at that. It reminds him of one particular fight he had with Kerri, when he told her she was being hysterical. He lived to regret it and deservedly so. He totally gets it now. John shakes his head angrily, turning away from Zach.

"You know what? Fuck you, Quinto. Go back to fucking Jersey."

"Are you crazy? It's late!"

"Not that late. Go get your pants and go home."

Zach gapes for a few seconds, then stomps off with a growl and does exactly as he's told. Well, he storms out, anyway, slamming the front door behind him and leaving John to wonder what the fuck just happened. It's Zach's fault, though, calling his friends names and placing judgment calls. It's _Zach's_ fault. He thinks. He hopes.

John curls up on the sofa and goes back to watching TV for a while, trying not to think of all the ways Zach could get hurt or killed, traveling home on the train so late at night. Then he decides that he's going to need alcohol if he's meant to mope properly. John's almost done downing a beer—yes, damn it, a delicious, cold _beer_ —when he hears a knock at the door. It's Zach, looking dejected and holding up a pastry box, his dark bangs falling in front of his pink-rimmed eyes.

"I'm sorry, John," he says, sniffling. "That was so... Of _course_ I'll do the double date with you. I want to. I'm just nervous, you know? I really want your friends to like me, a-and...I have a big audition tomorrow afternoon and I'm always high-strung before an audition, and—"

"Hey, hey...it's okay. C'mere." John closes the door and gathers Zach into his arms, pulling him in for a hug. Zach wraps around him completely, as if John is liable to float away. John finds it slightly distressing that Zach has seemingly fallen to pieces, but another part of him is pleased. Could it be that Zach is as neurotic as he is? "It's okay, Zach, really. I forgave you as soon as I opened the door." John takes the pastry box from him gingerly. "What'd you bring me?"

Zach quirks a watery smile. "Chocolate rugelach."

"Okay, feel free to storm out whenever you want if you're going to bring me back rugelach."

"You kicked me out!"

"Which was obviously the right thing to do!"

Zach laughs into John's neck as they make their way back to the sofa. John can't help but feel a little giddy as he opens up the pastry box. Not only did he and Zach survive their first fight, but it was petty and dumb and resulted in chocolatey goodness.

Chris was right. John's pretty sure that he has a boyfriend now.

*

"Grande iced coffee for John?"

"Right here."

John smiles to the barista—Clifton, nice guy—and gives him a fist bump after he grabs his coffee. He definitely needs his java fix if he's going to face that monster _So You Think You Can Dance_ article currently taunting him from his inbox. Rachel, one of the head television writers, tends to yammer endlessly when taking on dance-based reality television. Really, she yammers about most everything, but she's especially obsessive when it comes to the cha-cha.

He's idly wondering what Zach might think of the show when his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. John looks to the heavens and prays that it isn't Zoe, ordering his ass back into the office post haste. When he looks at the screen, it's a number that he doesn't recognize. He juggles his coffee and his bag, fumbling to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, John! It's Kristen!"

"Oh...Kristen! Hey!" John gives an incredulous look to no one in particular and sips his drink. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks! Sorry I'm calling out of the blue like this. I wrangled your number from Zach's phone when he wasn't paying attention."

John smiles faintly. "Very sneaky. Is everything okay? Zach's okay?"

"Zach's fine. He doesn't actually know I'm calling." She pauses and John can practically hear her sneaky little grin on the other end of the line. "The thing is, Zach's birthday is coming up soon and I'm planning a surprise party for him that weekend. June fifth, it's a Saturday night. I wanted to let you know so you can keep the date free. Oh, and you're totally welcome to bring a friend or something, if you're worried about not knowing anyone there. Not that I'll be able to drag Zach away from you all night."

"I—come on." John laughs, shaking his head. "I promise I'll let other people have their fair share of time with the birthday boy. You need any help with the planning, or...?"

"I've got everything under control," Kristen says. "The only thing is that it's going to be at his place, so I'll need you to take him out beforehand and then pretend like nothing's going on when you take him back home."

"Okay, yeah, I can do that."

"Yeah? Okay. Don't let me down, John!" Kristen chides, though John can tell she's joking. "It's all up to you, Mister Boyfriend Man. Oh, yeah, Zach's started calling you his boyfriend lately. It's so fucking cute."

John's heart skips a beat, he's sure of it. "...He does? I mean, he is? It is?"

"Oh, my god, you're fucking cute, _too_. The two of you could power a tank that runs on cuteness. Anyway, I'm probably interrupting you at work, so I'll let you go."

"Yeah, okay." John sips at his coffee and glances up as he reaches his office building. "It was nice to talk to you, Kristen. And, um...thanks. You know, for including me."

"UGH. Stop with the cuteness, you're killing me. It's no problem at all. See you soon, okay? We'll drag Zach out to brunch."

"Yeah, definitely," John says, laughing. "Bye, Kristen."

John heads back to the office, infinitely buoyed by the fact that Zach's best friend has included him in her big birthday plans. When he gets to his desk, Chris is talking loudly on the phone, which isn't anything new but still kind of annoying. The gargantuan _So You Think You Can Dance_ article remains in John's inbox, waiting for his sign-off, so John dutifully opens the containing folder and breaks out his highlighter and red pen, beginning to work.

"Yeah, it's like a French bistro, right on the corner of Columbus and...yeah! Shit, I can never remember the name. Yeah! That's the one. What do you think, seven-ish?"

John arches a brow, half-listening as he looks something up online. It sounds like Chris has a date planned with Karl for tonight. Or maybe he's grown bored of Karl and he's setting up a date with someone else. Not that Chris would do that when he's still so besotted. At least, John hopes he wouldn't.

"Well, I say seven because Karl has to get up here from downtown. Yeah, no, that's okay. I can entertain him until then."

John blinks, confused at the mention of Karl in the third person. He opens up his inbox and types out a quick message to Chris.

 _From: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
To: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 03:18:25 p.m.  
Subject: Who are you talking to_

 _?_

 _From: cpine@offscreenmag.com  
To: jcho@offscreenmag.com  
Time: 03:18:56 p.m.  
Subject: Re: Who are you talking to_

 _Zach._

 _:)_

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, hey, Zach, hold on. John just figured it out."

John rises from his seat and leans over his desk to look down at Chris indignantly, on the other side of the partition. "Why are you talking to him? How did you get his number?" John demands. Chris looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes, twirling a red pen in his left hand, his right hand still holding his cell phone to his ear.

"I got it from your phone. Do you mind? I'm trying to have a conversation with Zach."

John splutters. Today is obviously the day of people stealing numbers from other people's phones. "But _why_?" he persists.

Chris just looks up at him and laughs, nodding as he speaks to Zach and ignores John. "Yeah, he is. He has that little notch between his eyebrows that he gets when he's all huffy about something. Yeah! Yeah, that's the one. See, you know."

"Pine, I will _end_ you," John seethes. He's all but ready to climb over the partition and snatch Chris' phone right out of his hand when Zoe walks by and gives John a look that forces him back into his chair. John silently fumes as he avoids Zoe's gaze, listening to Chris laugh as he wraps up his conversation with Zach.

"Okay, man. So, yeah, seven o'clock. I'll bring your mister. Bye." A moment after Chris hangs up, he sighs loudly. "Honestly, John. You need to relax. One too many grande iced coffees."

"What's happening at seven?" John asks grumpily, ignoring the remark. He has just enough caffeine flowing through his veins at all times, thank you very much.

"We're going on our double date."

John huffs. "And you had to steal my boyfriend's number out of my phone to arrange it? What if I had plans?"

"Ha, good one. I just thought it'd be a nice gesture for me to call, since I didn't make a great impression last time." Chris pauses and when John looks up, he sees Chris' spiky head peering at him from over the top of the wall. "Karl was supposed to work late tonight but then he got out of it, so I figured it'd be a good idea. Sorry."

"It's okay," John sighs. He takes a moment to wonder why he always forgives Chris for these things, but he supposes he can't do much else. Chris will be Chris, after all. He smiles faintly. "Just means I'll have to be nervous instead of happy for the rest of the afternoon."

Chris balks. "Whoa. You were happy? How did that happen?"

"One: shut up. Two: I hate your guts. Three: Zach's friend Kristen called me and asked me to help her get Zach to his secret surprise birthday party coming up. And I thought that was...nice. Like, I'm part of their little circle now." He shrugs shyly. "I dunno."

Chris gives him a huge grin. "Aww, John. That's sickening as fuck."

"Thanks. I knew you'd be happy for me." John smirks. "She said I can bring a friend. So maybe if Zach likes you and Karl, you can come along."

"Sure, that'd be fun. I love a good party." Chris pauses, then, and wrinkles his nose. "Wait, is it in Jersey? Because that's TFP."

"TFP?"

"Too Far to Party."

John sighs and flings a paper clip at Chris, going back to his article. "I mean it, you know. I hate your guts. Your guts are loathsome. Odious and vile."

Chris drops back into his chair with a dreamy-sounding sigh. "Oh, John, I love it when you talk dirty to me, you sexy bitch."

John shakes his head and smiles as he works. He's pleasantly surprised to find that he doesn't completely hate the insipid article in front of him anymore, nor does he dread the evening that lies ahead.

*

The double date goes surprisingly well. Chris and Karl grill Zach at every possible opportunity—which is just unfair, considering that John didn't do that to Karl at any point—and Zach is a good sport the entire time, answering questions with good humor. He gets a little twitchy at times, but not too badly, and he only grabs John's thigh under the table out of nerves twice. Chris is also on his best behavior; he likely doesn't want to do anything that might make Karl question Chris' allegiance. He doesn't keep his eyes on Zach for more than three seconds at a time.

Zach excuses himself to use the restroom before dinner arrives and John and Chris are both surprised to see Karl turn bodily in his seat to watch him go. He whistles low as he turns back to the table and shakes his head.

"Yeah, okay, sorry I doubted you, Chris. He _is_ rather undeniably attractive."

"Right?! I mean, it's not like I want to do him or anything." John doesn't miss how Chris' eyes dart nervously. "But yeah, he's hot and our man John is the lucky bitch who snagged him."

"I'd go so far as to say that Zach is the lucky one for snagging John, mate."

"If you make me blush, I'll reach over and stab both of you with my fork," John says.

"I guess it's okay that he doesn't watch TV," Chris muses, sipping his wine. "Maybe I'll ask him about poetry. He's pretentious; I'm sure he has an opinion."

Karl quirks a brow. "You realize that you just called yourself pretentious?"

Chris shrugs. "I have a master's degree in poetry. I'm either pretentious or a complete sucker."

"Or both," John adds. He blinks when his phone buzzes in his pocket with a new text from Zach.

 _in the bathroom. pacing. how am i doing. do they hate me? break it to me gently._

John breaks out into a grin. He tries to text back surreptitiously. _They love you. They're sitting here talking about how hot and awesome you are and how weird it is that you deign to go out with me._

 _shut up. i hate you. but not really. srsly, they like me?_

Chris leans forward and gives John a suspicious look. "Dude. Are you texting at the dinner table? That's rude. Plus, who the fuck would be texting you right now? All your friends are right here."

"It's Zach," John says, still grinning. Karl and Chris exchange incredulous smiles.

"Is he texting you from the men's room? To ask what we think of him?" Karl asks. "Christ, that's cute."

"Tell him to stop prancing around in there and come back," Chris adds, laughing.

 _Seriously, they like you_ , John types. _They can't get over how fucking cute it is that you're hanging out by the urinals and texting me for insider info._

 _...ok, now i really hate you._

When Zach returns, he looks slightly embarrassed, what with all the giddy smiles directed at him. Luckily, their food arrives a moment later and that's enough to divert the group's attention for a few moments. Chris reaches over and grabs something off Karl's plate, much to Karl's dismay, and John takes the opportunity to lean over and whisper in Zach's ear, rubbing his knee.

"Relax," John says. "You're golden."

Zach smiles and turns to kiss John's cheek. "Kind of weird that you're the one telling me to relax," he murmurs.

Across from them, Chris swallows a bite of food and licks his lips, tilting his head. "So, Zach. I hear you don't like TV. Are you a reader, then?"

"Definitely," Zach says. He smiles and sprinkles salt on his food. "Mainly short stories and poetry."

"Who are your favorite poets?"

"Oh, the usuals, I guess. Elizabeth Bishop, Ted Hughes, Lorine Niedecker..."

Chris drops his fork with a clatter, his eyes wide. "Um...seriously? You like Niedecker? I did my graduate thesis on her work."

"Oh, boy," Karl says, cutting into his steak. "Here we go."

"I love her." Zach nods excitedly. "My copy of her collected works is all dog-eared and scribbled on."

Chris laughs, veritable stars in his eyes. "Mine too!"

"Can we switch to a more crowd-friendly topic for the non-literary elites at the table?" Karl sighs.

"Sure, babe," Chris says. He motions to Zach, a universal _we'll talk later_ gesture, then grabs one of the potatoes from Karl's plate. "Wanna talk about _The Da Vinci Code_ instead? I hope you finished your copy because I used it as toilet paper last night."

Zach snorts and John smiles to himself, pleased beyond words that Zach seems to be officially indoctrinated now. Aside from the real risk of Chris shoving his tongue down Karl's throat, John imagines that their first double date will go down in the books as a perfect evening.

*

John and Zach take their leave at the bar when Chris starts shoving his tongue down Karl's throat. It's obvious that those two lovebirds are done with socializing for the night, and the sight of Chris crawling into Karl's lap and licking at his teeth is enough to kill John's buzz completely.

"Bye, guys," John offers. Karl makes an attempt to wave in response but loses interest halfway through.

John and Zach take the train up to John's place. They don't say much, though the silence is comforting, as is the way Zach sits closely, pressed along John's side. Zach takes John's hand once they're safely inside his building and he only lets go to allow John to unlock his front door and let them inside the apartment. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Zach's hands are cradling John's face and their mouths seal together quickly, as if it's been misery to keep them apart. In a way, it has.

"Tonight was great," Zach says, after a few lingering kisses. "Chris and Karl are great. I'm so glad they like me."

"It's your own fault for doubting that they would." John smiles and runs his hand over Zach's chest, already itching to get him naked. "But yeah, it went great. We should celebrate. With sex."

"I like the way you think, John Cho."

"I like the way you say my name."

"I like to say it." Zach grins and cards his fingers through John's hair. "I can get behind sex as a plan. I've been thinking about sucking you all night."

John pauses, feeling a shiver run through him at the thought. He kisses Zach again, just because, and then whispers against his lips. "Actually, I was, um...I was thinking of something else." He shuts his eyes briefly as he convinces himself to say it. "That you should fuck me."

Zach blinks and draws back to look into John's eyes. "Really...? You're sure? Tonight?"

"Yeah, I mean...I don't know what I'm waiting for at this point. I trust you and I know it'll be good 'cause you're amazing, and..." John trails off and laughs at himself. "Fuck, I sound like a teenage girl on prom night."

Zach grins. "I wouldn't know. I boycotted my prom for not allowing same-sex couples."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

"Mm, John." Zach leans in and kisses John deeply, tugging gently at his earlobe in a way that makes John shudder. "I'll definitely fuck you. If that's what you want. God, I think about it all the time."

 _Me too_ , John almost says. But he figures Zach can probably tell by the way John pulls him hurriedly toward the bedroom. "Well, come on, then, cowboy."

They're way too eager to get their clothes off once they make it into the bedroom and Zach ends up struggling with his shirt somehow—so much for being suave. It's kind of cute, watching him fight with a cotton polo like this, but then John takes pity and leans in to try and help. He gets a bony elbow to the face for his troubles.

"Fuck!"

"What? Oh, my god. Did I hit you?" Zach finally yanks his arms free of his shirt and immediately goes over to John, cupping his face. "Is it your nose? It's not bleeding. Can you wiggle it?"

"I'm not Samantha Stephens, so probably not," John says, wincing. "Fuck, that hurt."

"Jesus. I'm so sorry, John." Zach gently runs his thumb down the bridge of John's nose and John can't help but laugh. "What?"

"I can't believe you're about to fuck me for the first time and you _elbowed me in the face_. That could only happen to me."

Zach smirks and kisses him. "Well, at least we got the clumsy moment out of the way?"

"Damn right. You're on your own with the rest of your clothes."

When they finally, _finally_ both get naked, it's asking too much not to feel each other's bare skin. John pulls Zach into a hungry kiss and runs his hands down the smooth, pale expanse of Zach's back, a stark contrast to the furred chest rubbing against his own. He slides his palms over Zach's ass cheeks in a moment of boldness and thumbs at the dimple right above his crack. Zach gasps and rubs his stubble against John's jaw and neck before taking control of the kiss, steering John toward the bed.

There's a tussle of bed sheets, kicking them out of the way, and then John finds himself on his back with Zach hovering over him. Zach has never looked hotter than he does right now, eyes wide with intent and his hands sweeping down John's sides, thumbing John's hipbones. John has to remind himself to blink as he stares, has to will his heart not to keel over when Zach flashes a brilliantly white smile.

"Something in my teeth?" Zach asks. He bends to kiss down the center of John's chest.

"Not right now, no." John laughs and runs his fingers through Zach's thick, silky hair. "It's just..."

Zach looks up. "What?"

"I can't believe I found you on _Craigslist_. I mean, look at you. What were you even _doing_ there?"

"If I say 'looking for you,' will you knee me in the groin?"

"Highly possible."

"Then let's say I was looking for hot sex with furries and circus clowns," Zach says. He grins and swirls his tongue around John's nipple, making John's breath catch and his back arch. "And I totally settled."

"Oh, so _that_ explains that time I saw you walking around here in a bear suit."

"Be quiet, you're distracting me," Zach says, laughing. He moves down John's body carefully, nipping down to his navel and licking down the trail of dark hair below it. John, for one, thinks Zach seems all too focused as he mouths along the hardening length of John's cock. Zach lips at the head before taking it into his mouth and sucking lightly, and god, he's being such a tease right now. John groans and runs his hands over Zach's shoulders, trying to keep his hips still.

"Thought you were gonna...nngh," he mutters.

Zach licks along the pronounced vein. "I will. I'm getting you relaxed."

"I'm not relaxed; I'm fucking horny," John pants. "I need a cock in my ass. Yours, preferably."

"Mmm, you're so _bossy_ now that you've learned the joys of gay sex. It's fucking hot." Zach takes John into his mouth completely for a lingering, totally debauched suck—holy fuck, his _face_ —and then lets John's cock slide from his mouth. He moves to slot their hips together and the push-pull of their dicks is hot, smooth and wet, thanks to Zach's talented mouth. They both moan loudly, grabbing onto each other. "Fuck, John..."

"Oh, god....oh, god, _Zach_ , shit, you're killing me, here..."

"Okay, yeah, yeah." Zach shifts and goes to the drawer where there are condoms and lube stashed, just like they'd discussed. John has used the lube plenty of times, both with Zach and by himself. He's been practicing for this moment with a dildo that's probably nowhere near as big as Zach. He figured it was a good start. "Let's try hands and knees," Zach suggests. "It'll be easier that way, the first time."

John nods and licks his lips nervously, then turns and gets on all fours. He looks back at Zach. "Good?"

"Good? Yeah...really good. Jesus."

Zach squirts lube onto his fingers, the tube making a rather unsexy sound, and then rubs his hands together, warming it up. John shuts his eyes and hangs his head low, his muscles tensing as he tries not to think about how weird and/or painful and/or horrendous this could be. Then his thoughts are interrupted by Zach's voice, quiet and hushed.

"You know," he says, "maybe the elbow in the face was a sign that we shouldn't do this. Like, on a cosmic level."

John blinks and whips his head back to scowl at Zach. "...Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"Yes." Zach grins and bends to lick a stripe between John's ass cheeks. John yelps and shudders at the same time. "Now stop being so tense."

"Jesus! You—you'll pay for that, Quinto!"

"Sure, sure."

Zach sounds pretty cocky back there, but he has every right to be, considering that the first press of his lubed fingers against John's entrance is enough to make John forget his own name. He rubs back and forth and then slides one finger in gently, and John immediately forgets his birthday and his first pet's name, too. He'll never be able to make small talk at a party again, or play that porn-star name game. John expected it to burn, but it doesn't, not really. Zach goes slow, working one finger in and out for a while, crooking it just so when he deems John ready. When John nods to him, exhaling shakily, Zach adds a second finger. He pumps them slowly and then parts them, stretching John out. John's arms shake and he groans into the mattress.

"Feels good, John?" Zach whispers. John can only nod jerkily, his eyes shut tight. Zach bends down to nip at the small of his back. "I'm getting so hard just watching you...watching that tight asshole open up for me..."

"Shut up or I'll come," John huffs, with every ounce of severity he can muster. "I fucking mean it, Zach."

Zach kisses John's tailbone and laughs. "Note to self: John Cho likes to be fingered. You ready?"

John nods and half-gasps, half-smirks as Zach withdraws his fingers slowly. "Hidden depths, right?"

"Hidden depths," Zach confirms. There's a rustle of plastic and then Zach lines himself up so that John can feel the blunt head of his cock between his ass cheeks, slick and demanding. John sucks in a deep breath and wills himself to relax. It already feels bigger than his dildo, but it's _Zach_. It's going to be good; it has to be. And Zach will be careful. Zach takes hold of John's hips and rubs lightly. "I'll go slow."

"Okay," John whispers. "Yeah. Go."

It feels both familiar and _completely_ different to have Zach's cock inside of him, pushing its way in, achingly slow. This time, it does burn a little, but it's not entirely unpleasant. Zach gasps at the tightness and John can't help but focus on the stretch, the strange feeling of Zach filling him up, inch by inch. He lets out a shaky moan and Zach rubs a soothing hand over his back, waiting for John's answering nod before bottoming out. John moans again, his fingers curled tightly in the sheets.

"Congratulations," Zach murmurs, his voice lower in pitch than usual. "You've been officially penetrated."

"S'like I'm a real gay now," John deadpans. "Move, please?"

Zach giggles and nuzzles John's back, which makes John smile despite himself. "Prepare to be ruined for all other men."

John laughs as Zach starts to slowly fuck him in earnest—and it _is_ kind of funny because he can't even begin to think about another man with Zach inside him like this, his thick length moving in and out of him so fluidly. Zach guides John's hips with his hands so he can pick up on the rhythm, and yeah, John remembers sex now. He used to be good at it. He's never been on this end of it, sure, but he instinctively follows Zach's lead, rocking back once he gets comfortable enough to push Zach deeper. Zach groans and lets his hands roam everywhere over John's body: his thighs, his lower belly, his throat and collarbone. John moans with every reverent touch and eases into the sensation of being fucked, his cock hard and bobbing against his pelvis. Zach's ongoing grunts are rough and sexy as fuck. John opens his mouth to suggest that Zach might consider touching his dick, some time this century perhaps, but then there's a strong hand on his back and he feels Zach's hips shift and thrust and _holy fucking baby Buddha_.

"Holy shit!" John lets out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide. "Did you just...?"

"Meet your prostate," Zach grits out, laughing hoarsely. "Totally the main reason you went gay."

"Fucking shit, it so _is_. God, _Zach_..." John pants as Zach keeps hitting the same incredible target over and over, his cock so hard that it smears wetness across his stomach. "Touch me already, come on," he hisses.

Zach runs his hand over John's stomach, sliding his fingers through the moisture he finds there: sticky precome mixed with sweat. He moans into the back of John's neck. "What's the magic word?"

"Craigslist... As in, I'll send your sorry ass back there if you don't fucking _touch me_ , Quinto!"

"Fuck, how are you so hot?" Zach groans. He obliges and wraps his hand firmly around John's cock, the first touch enough to set off electric shocks. Zach starts to stroke in earnest, in time with his well-maneuvered thrusts, and John feels the warmth rush to his groin, feels the telltale tingle in his fingers and toes. He whines loudly and Zach twists his hand cruelly. "God, I can—I can _feel_ you twitching around my dick, John... So fucking hot, you gonna come for me? Gonna come with my cock in your ass?"

John _thinks_ he answers in the affirmative, but he can't really get out anything coherent. He fucks into Zach's hand once, twice, and then he's coming hard and fast, shaking in Zach's grasp and crying out unintelligibly. John goes practically limp as soon as the crest passes, but Zach holds him steady as he thrusts erratically, going deeper now that John is more relaxed, post-release. John bears down on a heavy thrust and gasps—he swears he can feel Zach's cock jump inside him—and then Zach climaxes as well, babbling John's name over and over, along with some choice swear words.

As soon as Zach pulls out, John slumps onto the bed, making an exhausted grab for a pillow. He buries his face against it as Zach takes care of the condom and then lets Zach turn him around for some lazy kissing.

"So did I succeed in ruining you for all other men?" Zach whispers after a while, nuzzling into John's shoulder.

John smirks and shuts his eyes. "Get some other men in here and we'll find out."

"No way. I call dibs." Zach kisses John one more time and then reaches over to turn out the light. "Go to sleep. If you're lucky, I'll give you a butt massage in the morning."

"You just want to finger me again," John murmurs, already half-asleep. He smiles as he feels Zach's hand wrap protectively over his hip.

"Are you opposed?"

"Not entirely, no."

*

John arrives at work about ten minutes late, one hand clutching the strap of his bag and the other holding a much-needed cup of coffee. He spies Chris and Anton talking outside the pantry and tries to sneak by them as quietly as possible, without attracting notice.

There may or may not be a slight limp in his step today. Or, well, there's definitely a limp. Like, a lot.

Chris stops talking mid-sentence as John walks by him and John _knows_ he's doomed. He can feel Chris' stare on him, all gay and knowing and judgy, but he doesn't pause in his movements. John walks to his cubicle, still in plain view of Chris and Anton, and carefully sets down his coffee cup and bag. He slings his jacket over the back of his chair. And, yeah, Chris and Anton may have him in their sights, but John can't escape the fact that his job requires working at a desk, which means he has to sit down at _some_ point. So he does. Carefully.

And he winces.

Chris _shrieks_.

John has the passing thought that Chris should be the one who's embarrassed for life by the way he clutches John's head to his chest, pretends to sob and shouts, "My baby boy's a MAN!" but something tells John this is solely his burden to bear. Zoe struts by and sighs, "Well, _finally_ ," and John sputters with indignation as Chris nearly smothers him in powder blue merino wool.

Still worth it.

*

"That was quite an entrance back there."

John pauses in sipping his wine and looks at Karl, who's just sidled up beside him by the kitchen doorway. He smirks as he thinks back to about twenty minutes earlier, when John and Zach all but tumbled their way into Zach's surprise thirtieth birthday party. It proved more difficult than John anticipated getting Zach into his apartment without implying that birthday sex would follow. John had at least three shirt buttons undone by the time the door unlocked and swung open to reveal a large crowd of Zach's friends, a shitload of streamers, and a banner that read, _Happy Birthday Old Fart_. Chris, who had somehow found his way to Jersey after all, broke the silence first.

"Okay, the entertainment's here!" he exclaimed, starting a slow clap. "Now we're talking. Take his pants off, Zach!"

"Ehh," John says now with a shrug. He watches Zach and Chris banter excitedly on the other side of the apartment, no doubt talking about John Berryman or the like, and smiles to himself. "It's a good story."

"That it is." Karl pulls from his beer and smirks as he follows the direction of John's gaze. "I swear, I've gone from being jealous of you to being jealous of Zach. Though I can't decide if I'm truly jealous or relieved that Chris has found... Well, let's say, an outlet. For his creativity."

John grins. "What, you don't like Serious Poet Chris?"

"It's one thing when he's reading me poetry in bed, but it's quite another when he's going through my bookshelves and judging everything I own."

"Whoa." John looks up, wide-eyed. "He does that? Reads you poetry in bed? That's so..." He wrinkles his nose. "Romantic."

Karl looks down quickly. In the dim lighting scheme of the party, John can't tell if he's blushing or not. "Not all the time. Just once in a while."

"Well, man, like I said the day we met: Just invite me to the wedding. Okay?"

"God, don't remind me. I was such an arse." Karl laughs and squeezes John's shoulder. "You know, John, I can honestly say that answering your bizarre little ad about being Asian changed my life. I'd say some thanks are long overdue."

John smirks and waves him off. "All part of the master plan, of course. Write a terrible personal ad; get blown off by a hot foreign guy... It was all very delicate, you see."

"Went down without a hitch." Karl leans in and murmurs in John's ear. "Don't sell yourself short. You grabbed the brass ring in the end."

John watches Zach throw his head back in laughter across the room and smiles. He's inclined to agree with Karl on this one.

He barely gets to talk with Zach for the majority of the evening, no match for the throngs of people who want to get their moments with the birthday boy. Zach seems thrilled to see every last one of them, his exuberance continually washing over the happy crowd. John switches to soda after a second glass of wine and finds Chris bonding with Noah on the living room sofa while talking to Kristen.

"Oh, hey, John," Chris says. He offers a faint smile, then leans in close and whispers: "I've never been in an apartment with no television before. It's creepy as _fuck_."

"Well, if it isn't the man who spoiled my wedding day," Kristen muses, diverting John's attention. Chris looks at her, his interest piqued.

"This sounds like a telenovela waiting to happen," he says.

John takes a seat on the arm of the sofa. "If Zach didn't meet anyone by the time he turned thirty, he was supposed to marry Kristen. Luckily, he was desperate enough to go out with me."

"Oh, stop it," Kristen chides. She swats John's thigh and he yelps.

"Jesus, how are you so strong? What, are you, like, five feet tall?"

"You don't have to say it like _that_."

"You'll have to forgive John," Chris says, smirking. "I think all the deep dickings have addled his brain."

John groans. " _Chris_..."

Kristen turns in her seat suddenly to face Chris. "Did you know that the first time I met John, I caught him in the middle of hooking up with Zach?"

"What?! John, you never told me that!"

"I'm not listening to this," John says, getting up from his seat.

"They were both naked," Kristen continues, a devilish grin on her face. Chris gasps and gawks at John, throwing his hands up.

"I thought we were friends!" he screeches.

John ignores them both and walks off toward the bedroom, where the bathroom is. Two and a half drinks in and he has to break the seal already. When he comes out, he looks down and sees Noah is sitting and waiting for him, tail wagging. John laughs in surprise and reaches down to stroke behind Noah's ears.

"Oh, so you like me now? What brought this on?"

"You're very likable," John hears a familiar voice say. He looks up to see Zach beaming down at him. "A solid guy. Noah can appreciate that."

"Hey, birthday guy." John stands and pulls Zach in by his belt loops for a quick kiss. "Don't you have some adoring fans to attend to?"

Zach shrugs. "They can wait. I haven't talked to you in, like, hours."

"Like, one and a half hours, really. Give or take."

"Whatever." Zach backs John against the wall and smiles ruefully. "I can't believe you were in on this whole thing, John Cho," he murmurs. "I expect better from you."

"See, you should expect less," John says, raising a finger. "And then you'll be disappointed less."

Zach rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss John again as reply. He licks slowly across John's lips, which part for him automatically, so their tongues can graze together. If John lets out a little sigh, no one but Zach will ever know—and maybe not even Zach, given the volume of the party behind them. The sensuous curl of Zach's tongue in John's mouth seems to convey a few things: _Thank you_ ; _Damn, you're sexy_ ; and maybe something a little more meaningful. Something deeper. Whatever it is, John feels it. He shivers in response and pulls Zach closer.

When they finally part, Zach quirks a perfect eyebrow at John. "Don't talk shit about my boyfriend, John Cho."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Quinto?"

Zach pretends to sigh mournfully. "I may have to fuck his brains out to prove my point."

John groans and takes Zach's hand. "Okay, let's go back to the party before I get a fucking hard-on in front of all your friends."

"You're no fun. Hey." Zach tugs on John's hand to make him pause. When John looks back, there's a secret smile playing on Zach's lips. It's possible that Zach invented it just for him. "I never said thanks," Zach says. "For saving me from that marriage, that is."

John grins crookedly and waves his free hand. "Like I keep saying, man, it was all part of the plan." He guides Zach back toward the living room where the guests are gathered, drinking and celebrating in Zach's honor. John finds he's eager to get back to it.


End file.
